Violations
by FaithOfTheHeart
Summary: An alternative ending to Unexpected. As Jon learns the real reason for Trip's 'assignment' to the Xyrillian ship, how will he react to what's really been done to his friend? And how far will he go to get justice? Jon/Trip friendship
1. Prologue

A/N: Hello again, and welcome to my latest, multi chapter story. It's an alternative ending to Unexpected, and deals with the issues that I found really disturbing about this episode.

Many of them were played for comedy, which was fine for the writers. But, for me, there was nothing funny at all about what was done to Trip, and the position he found himself in afterwards.

One line in the episode struck me especially. "We have a good deal of experience with alien visitors."

To me, that suggests a more sinister motive, for all those times that the Xyrillian ship just happens to need its engines repaired. So with that in mind, here's the prologue for the story itself, just to set the scene for what follows.

Other commitments permitting, I'll be posting up the story as one chapter each day. I hope you enjoy!

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Violations

Prologue

The hatch opened, allowing their latest subject to step into the viewing chamber. Into their appraising scrutiny.

Commander Charles Tucker III.

Home Planet - Earth.

Species - Human.

Project Number 8673/B.

Like all the others who'd come before him, this… _human_… was intrigued beyond his natural wariness for this new, strange environment. His voice held the same curiosity as he glanced around him.

"Hello?"

Unseen, those who'd arranged for his deliverance to them traded satisfied glances. Studying the console before him, one of them spoke.

"A male of the human species. Young. Healthy. Fertile. A perfect specimen."

Studying this Commander Tucker with the same shrewd approval, his companion nodded. None of her 'assignments' had aroused her interest, or her physical response, as much as this one. Once his conditioning was complete, testing his suitability for their needs would be… yes, a highly rewarding pleasure.

"Yes, he is. I am sure he will make an excellent subject," she agreed just as clinically, still watching him as she brushed her hand over the controls that would start the conditioning process. "First stage initiated. Full concentration."

His reaction to the gas that now swirled around him was as she'd expected. It made her smile widen. She always enjoyed this moment of confusion and panic.

"Hello?!"

Fear too, now, as he searched for escape that had already been taken from him. The little ship that had brought him here had undocked, and returned to its parent vessel. However frantically he looked for one, there was no way out. No escape.

Now she started phase two. Another part of her role in his processing. The offer of calming reassurance, to lull him into a false sense of security.

"Try to maintain your normal rate of respiration."

An experience so enjoyable for her, as she continued to watch him prowl around the chamber, as the helpless prisoner he would soon become. But, of course, the complete opposite for him.

"This stuff's burnin' my lungs!"

A sign of defiance? Resistance? She could quash them both, with just the touch of her hand - adding more powerful drugs to the gas that now thickened around him. More words of soothing falsehood, to nullify the effects they had upon him.

"Maintain your normal rate of respiration. The discomfort will subside."

It was just a matter of time now, before he succumbed to the drugs that were leeching into his mind, forcing it to comply with whatever they chose to do. In just three of his species' time-spells, these things they called 'hours', he would be theirs.

Hers.

She had three of these hours, then, to plan the next part of his testing and processing. The parts she always enjoyed the most - especially on a body and mind as strong, and as spirited, as this one.

Still watching him, Ah'Len's smile widened in anticipation. Yes, her assignment to her first human subject would be very enjoyable indeed.


	2. Chapter 1 Unthinkable Acts

A/N: Well, after that rather chilling prologue, here we go with the story itself.

As I said in my summary, this is an alternative ending to the episode. It takes place after Trip has had the embryo removed, and returns to Enterprise. But this first chapter features Jon, as he finds out what's _really_ happened to his friend.

I hope you enjoy it - despite its rather disturbing subject - and thanks as always for these first, very encouraging reviews!

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Violations

Chapter One - Unthinkable Acts

Jonathan Archer sat in his quarters, staring at the screen in front of him through blank, unseeing eyes. Five full minutes had passed, since Admiral Forrest had ended the call that had torn his world apart. And still he just couldn't move.

Couldn't begin to believe what his longtime friend had told him.

All he could do was sit at his desk, and let the bombshells the Admiral had just dropped on him sink into a horrified mind.

"…just to give you a heads up, Jon, the Vulcan High Command has told us about a potential threat…"

"…a warning from their allies on Mazar… Jon, these are a species you'll _really_ want to avoid…"

"…called the Xyrillians… innocent enough when you first meet them, but a real danger after that…"

"…five cases so far, and one fatality… that's why I've sent this warning as top priority…"

"…so if they ask for help to repair their engines… whatever you do, Jon, make sure you _don_'_t_…"

Seven minutes now, and Jon dropped his head into his hands, in helpless fury at what he'd just heard. Yes, he'd received this emergency warning, but too late for him to act on it, and… _no_. _Dear God_. _No_.

'..._Trip_...'

Bile that had been surging up his throat now spilled into his mouth. A tide of it, too much of it to be contained.

'..._oh_, _God_... _Trip_...'

He barely made it into the bathroom, before a tide of physical horror hurled itself into his shower. By the time he'd emptied out his stomach, all of his strength, but not his anger, had also deserted him.

Still shaking from its exertion, still fighting to regain his composure, Jon sat on his bathroom floor – struggling to come to terms with the violation that had been inflicted so cruelly on his closest friend. He'd found it so funny at the time. Years of friendship had given way to crassly insensitive amusement.

In sickbay, he'd discussed him with Phlox as if Trip, sitting right there in front of him, didn't even exist. And for every time in his dining room, where his best friend had sat there, so completely humiliated –

'…_you know what happened this mornin_'? _Ensign Hart pulled out my chair for me_!'

– so clearly hurt, and upset, and just all out scared by the situation that he'd had forced upon him –

'…_I_'_m the chief engineer… I spent years earnin_'_ that position_…_ I never had any intention of becomin_' _a workin_' _mother_…'

– he'd just sat there, shaking with laughter that he'd hid behind his hand, like a sniggering frat boy.

God, even Phlox had done the same. Treated his patient's embarrassment as the sickest kind of joke.

'…_you may well be putting those nipples to use before you know it_…'

All because he'd sent his chief engineer to an alien ship to help them repair their engines. And instead, they'd -

Again, Jon closed his eyes against a fresh wave of nausea. Whether Trip knew what they were doing to him was irrelevant. No, _they_'_d _known. Known _exactly_ what they were doing to him, without his knowledge or his consent, and… Christ, those _bastards_!

From the extreme of numbing shock, Jon's emotions now swung to their opposite state. Pure, overwhelming rage. His best friend had been near enough raped by some alien species, and what was he doing about it? Finding them? Making them pay? Being there for Trip, at this time when he most needed him?

No, he was sitting here on his butt, and… _God_, _damn it_! What the _hell_ was he thinking?

He should be thinking about Trip now. Helping him through the trauma of what he'd been put through. If – no, _when_ – they found those sick SOBs… well, his primal sense of justice would take care of that. More immediately, he had to put Trip first.

Trip's care at that moment lay with Phlox. A quick check that his 'condition' had been safely resolved. Try as he might, Jon couldn't contain a fresh surge of anger on how that 'condition' had come about. Rising to his feet, he strode past the startled Porthos, and almost punched his comm unit into the wall.

"Archer to sickbay."

Even if he couldn't see his anger, Phlox still heard its intensity, shaking its way through his voice. Still not fully used to his Captain's moods, he answered this one with quietly concerned neutrality.

"Yes, Captain?"

Maybe it was the concern in his CMO's voice, or belated realization that he didn't deserve this anger. But Jon felt at least part of it abate now, letting more of it escape through a soft but anxious question.

"Is Trip still with you? Is he... I – I mean, is he all right?"

"With _me_? No, Captain, I didn't even know he'd returned. Although I _do _find it odd that he hasn't come to me yet. I understood the shuttle arrived over an hour ago, and_._.. hello? _Captain_?"

Breaking off in mid sentence, Phlox stared at his comm unit, frowning in both concern and curiosity. The connection had been terminated by a furious curse, then silence that made his frown deepen. He had no idea why his Captain had sounded so upset, so inexplicably angry, for no obvious reason. But he'd already guessed it was serious. Very serious indeed.

_And_ it involved Commander Tucker.

Until he found out what was wrong with his patient, the best thing he could do was to stay put. Still frowning, he then glanced at the field kit that he always had ready for ship-based emergencies. From much more now than finely trained instincts, something was telling him he was about to need it.


	3. Chapter 2 Too Much, Too Little, Too Late

A/N: It's strangely encouraging to see that I'm not the only one who found this episode so disturbing! You'll know from my other stories that Trip is my favourite character, and I _hated_ to see him treated so badly. As much as I love Jon too - God, I wanted to throttle him here!

So, if just in this story, he's now taking what's been done to Trip that much more seriously. And as he is about to find, not a moment too soon.

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Violations

Chapter Two - Too Much, Too Little, Too Late

The two ensigns that Jon almost flattened in the corridor must have wondered what the hell was happening. There wasn't any kind of alert. Nothing to explain the look of rare but real panic on their Captain's face. Yet he'd barrelled past them like a 'backer at the Superbowl, heading for the end zone for a winning pass.

Oblivious to the puzzled glances that followed him, Jon kept running, flat out, until he reached Trip's quarters. When he reached them, though, all of that resolve faltered, as his thoughts again overwhelmed him. None of his Starfleet training – hell, nothing he'd faced in his life – could have prepared him for this. Assuming that Trip even wanted to see him… God, what was he going to say? What _could_ he say?

Against this storm of doubts and regrets, a calmer voice reminded him of what he was. Who he was. Not just his chief engineer's Captain, but also his closest friend. And right now, Trip needed him.

Even so, the voice that finally spoke still held a tremor of uncertainty, and even greater concern.

"Trip? Trip, it's me… it's Jon… are you all right? Can you let me in? Trip?

Met with silence that did nothing at all to ease his anxiety, he quickly accessed the door's controls – striding through it as soon as it opened, then stopped dead in his tracks, by the scene in front of him.

Curled up on his bed, visibly shaking under its covers, Trip looked awful. In fact, he looked like _hell_. Despite the tremors that were running through his body, his face held the flush of a rising fever. An unhealthy sheen covered his forehead. Trickles of sweat ran into already soak-darkened hair.

From what he now knew, and another awful misjudgement, guilt now hit Jon like a sledgehammer. He'd sent Trip back to the Xyrillians, alone, without any help from his own doctor, or a security team. Again, in blind ignorance, he'd trusted Trip's life to them. Trusted _them_ to reverse his 'condition.' And from that surgery to reverse that unthinkable act, something had gone wrong.

_Terribly_ wrong.

A whimpering moan of pain snapped him out of his horror. Trip needed help, and he needed it now.

"It's all right, Trip, I'm here now. It's all right, I'm getting you to sickbay," he said at last, so focussed in trying to lift Trip into his arms that he didn't feel him stiffen, and flinch against them.

It took a faint, almost desperate voice to make him realize the heartbreaking truth of his misjudgement.

"_No_! Please, Jon, don' – don' ma'e me go wh're they're – they're all g'nna see me. Pl'se, Jon, don' make me go."

He was shaking even more now. No, not just shaking. Struggling. Fighting against _him_, and… _oh_, _God_.

After what those bastards had done to him, the last thing he could take right now was physical contact. For the friend who wanted so much to offer him its comfort, it was the cruellest kind of irony – one that Jon knew he had to accept as he lay Trip gently down again, and stepped away from him.

"Okay, Trip… it's – it's okay, we won't go to sickbay. We don't need to do that, Trip, it's okay. it's okay."

Watching him curl himself back into a tight, telltale huddle, Jon again cursed his crass insensitivity. God, how could he have been so stupid? Failed to anticipate something so blindingly obvious?

Then he saw where Trip's arm lay angled across his ribs. Where that… that monstrosity had been. And that did it. That took the only alternative option out of Trip's hands, and into the one that now slapped the intercom above his bed.

"Archer to sickbay. Doc, I need you in Trip's quarters. Medical emergency."

The response came back before he'd finished speaking, or even said where he was. Almost as if Phlox had been expecting his call.

"On my way."

Equally grateful that Trip's rank had also blessed him with his own bathroom, Jon then strode into it – returning with a bowl of cool water, and wasting no time in putting the soaked cloths inside it to use. Trying not to make the same mistake he'd made already, he draped one of them on Trip's forehead – frustration that he couldn't do more to comfort his friend spilling through the helplessness in his voice.

"Damn it, Trip, you're burning up here."

In Trip's current state, he wasn't expecting a response. Part of him didn't even want to hear one. So the one that _did_ come tore at his heart. Slammed even more nails of guilt into his conscience.

"S'rry."

Then it got worse. Through a voice that was little more than a whisper, it got heart-wrenchingly worse.

"H'rts, Jon… G'd, it – it h'rts…"

For several moments, Jon just stared at him, wondering how the hell he could bring them through this. Its answer came so unexpectedly that it took several moments for him to notice it. A clumsily searching hand.

From pain, shock, or just a simple need to find a way out of his agony, Trip was trying to find him.

Forgetting everything that he'd done wrong before, Jon caught that hand, and held tightly onto it – throwing all caution to the wind now, as he gently stroked Trip's hair back from his forehead.

"I know, Trip. Easy now, it's all right, Phlox will be here any minute… easy now, Trip, it's okay… I've got you, just hold on."

Gripping his hand through more spasms of pain, Trip closed his eyes, fighting to bite the agony down. Tears still seeped out from under their lids, and… yeah, God knew, Jon felt himself choking up too.

That minute couldn't come fast enough now, and… _get here_, _Phlox. F__or God_'_s_ _sake_, _get here_!


	4. Chapter 3 A Universal Outrage

A/N: Another thing that struck me about this episode was Phlox's attitude towards Trip, especially during that scene in Jon's dining room. It bordered on complete indifference at times, which just didn't fit in with the character we'd seen in the first few episodes - and certainly not in the later ones!

So, as he responds to Jon's call from the previous chapter, I've written him as the Phlox that I grew to love in the series. Also, I thought he'd be the first person that Jon would confide in, so he could give Trip all the support he needs.

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Violations

Chapter Three - a Universal Outrage

Rarely had a door chime sounded so welcome. Even more rarely had Jon answered it so fast, or released its lock so quickly. Finding Trip in such an alarming state had shaken him to his core. Glancing down at his friend, still huddled against him, that anxiety hadn't subsided.

Offering him a brief smile of reassurance, Phlox strode to Trip's side with the same, practised calm. In seconds, he saw the suffering in his patient's eyes, and moved with instinctive speed to stop it.

"Well now, Commander, you're running quite the fever here. But don't worry, this will have you feeling better in no time."

To him, of course, the hypospray in his hand would bring nothing but relief. In the eyes of his patient, though, it represented the exact opposite - hence the surprise he felt when Trip shrank away from it. Staring up at him, inexplicably terrified, it was left to his Captain to try and soothe its cause away.

"It's all right, Trip, you're safe now. It's all right, you're back on Enterprise."

That should have been enough. However hurt, or scared he'd been in the past, that had _always_ been enough. But as Phlox was now coming to realize, this was no ordinary terror. These were no ordinary circumstances. Whatever had triggered these irrational reactions was also holding his patient in a cruelly tight grip, that not even his best bedside manner could break through.

More worryingly, it was taking all of Jonathan Archer's patience to stop his friend from succumbing to it completely. Crouching at his shoulder, he kept his eyes locked on Trip's, gently willing him to listen to him – keeping his voice calm, as soothingly quiet as it had to be, to try and break through this crippling terror.

"And you trust me, don't you, Trip? And Phlox too, you know neither of us would _ever_ hurt you. It's all right, Trip, he's just trying to help you. He isn't going to hurt you, Trip, I promise. All the time I'm here, I won't let _anyone_ hurt you."

Still staring back at him, Trip blinked a few times, as if waking from a deep sleep, then dazedly nodded. Then his eyes closed again, as if he'd resigned himself to whatever Phlox had to do to try and help him.

For Jon, of course, this meant only one thing. Through the horrors of his mind, Trip was re-living it. Submitting to another's demands, when he'd been powerless to stop it. Unable to resist, or fight back.

Wherever you were, on whatever planet, or galaxy, or whatever species its victims belonged to – yes, for anyone and everyone who had to deal with it, and its consequences, its definition was the same.

Rape.

Jon closed his eyes too now, hiding the tears that threatened to spill out of them. He swallowed. Hard.

'_Oh_, _God,_ _help me. He__lp me get him through this._'

Puzzled by the devastation that had settled on his Captain's face, Phlox resisted the urge to question it. Instead, he focussed his attention back to the equally obvious needs of his patient, and set to work, pressing a hypospray against Trip's neck, and nodding approvingly at the effectiveness of its contents

"This will help your fever to break, Commander. And when you wake up, you'll feel a lot better."

Coupled with a mild sedative, the medication hit Trip's bloodstream before he'd finished speaking. The injection had been so gentle and painless that he hadn't flinched. His eyes hadn't even re-opened.

Pulled into an instant, healing sleep, all of the fear and pain that had blighted his face melted away. His vital signs had settled too.

For a doctor called to a suffering patient, it was always a welcome sight. So the surprise that Phlox felt at seeing the cold fury on the face of his Captain was understandably puzzling. And if it related to his now peacefully sleeping patient, he also knew he had to find out why.

"With all these physical changes, the Commander's body is struggling to re-adjust," he said at last, the puzzled frown on his face turning deeper still, as Jonathan Archer's remained a mask of stone. Assuming it was from the natural shock of finding his friend in such distress, he felt honour bound himself to try and put those fears to rest.

"But despite these rather alarming symptoms, he isn't in any danger. They're from a hormonal imbalance that I can treat and correct very easily. Don't worry, Captain. For what he's been through, this reaction is perfectly normal."

All well and good, of course. At least, in his medical eyes. But if he'd hoped to reassure his Captain, the deadly softness in his voice soon told him he'd failed.

"Believe me, doctor, there's nothing _remotely_ _normal_ about what's been done to him."

Again reminded that no blame for this outrage lay with his CMO, Jon then sighed, fought for control – finding comfort in another's gentle blue eyes, as those of his closest friend remained firmly closed. Even so, it was several moments that he spent in silence, watching Trip sleep, before he spoke again.

"I – I had a warning from Starfleet. About the Xyrillians. What they are… what they do."

In no doubt now, that this apparently friendly species had completely deceived them, Phlox nodded – his eyes widening in dismay, then shock, and finally helpless anger, at what his Captain then told him.

Glancing back at his patient, Phlox just shook his head. It all made sense now. The terror. The submission. Every awful piece of the puzzle had now slipped into place. And his reaction, when it came, seemed so inadequate against the scale of its devastating impact.

"Dear God! The Commander, and all those others… Captain, are – are they sure?"

Sympathising with him entirely, and feeling its horror even more deeply, Jon could only nod too. He was still studying the hand that rested on Trip's shoulder, knowing its protection had come far too late.

"He had no idea, Phlox, about what they did to him on that ship, or its most likely result," he said at last, letting more of his fury escape now, in shallow comfort that, this time, Phlox would understand it. "I don't know if there's a term for that on Denobula… but back on Earth, it's called rape."

Moved by far more than his natural compassion, Phlox started to reply, then found he just couldn't. After what he'd just heard… no. There just wasn't anything at all now, that he could possibly say.


	5. Chapter 4 20-20 Hindsight

A/N: As with the last chapter, this one still centres around on Jon and Phlox, as they come to terms with their respective misjudgements. It also leads into the next part of the story, where Jon starts planning the action that will bring the Xyrillians to justice.

With that in mind, if any of you are hoping ( or waiting!) for the rest of the team to start helping out - well, hopefully you won't be disappointed by the next chapter. For this one, though, it's a bit more conscience-searching for both Jon and Phlox.

As always, I hope you enjoy, and thanks again for all your very kind reviews!

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Violations

Chapter Four - 20/20 Hindsight

16:07. Ten minutes had passed now, since Phlox had learned why he'd been called so urgently to Trip's quarters. Now that he'd recovered from the shock of its reasons, his professional persona had returned. As he quietly told himself, such concern for his patient was long overdue.

While his Captain kept watch at his friend's side, he'd set to work on the terminal on Trip's desk. Quietly, seriously, he'd studied the scans he'd taken when his still blissfully oblivious patient had first come to see him. In silence, he condemned himself for not doing so before. Or, at least, with more thoroughness.

Even from meeting a supposedly friendly new species, he should - _should_ - have checked these scans more closely. Instead of taking their word for it, he should have checked himself that the Commander - _his_ patient - hadn't been harmed. Insisted on going back with him for that surgery, which, by the pure grace of good fortune, hadn't left him with anything more serious than a hormonal imbalance.

When lives were at stake, there could be no excuse for letting assumptions of good will, or good treatment, put those lives at risk.

From a slightly different viewpoint, he now heard his Captain's voice revealing the same regret.

"You know, doc? I just realized, not once… not _once,_ did I think to ask you about Trip's safety."

He was safe enough now, of course. Sleeping peacefully at his side, Trip still lay in a haven of threat-free dreams. But just days ago - yes, it had all been so different. Still watching him, Jon felt every part of that difference, and again cursed his insensitivity. There were times, he thought, when he just didn't deserve Trip's friendship.

Making sure his friend was still settled enough that he wouldn't disturb him, Jon then rose to his feet – needing to stretch the stiffness out of his legs, and release more of the tension that still lay beneath it. Even when he'd made several circuits of Trip's quarters, though, so much of it still lingered – especially when he glanced back at his friend, and reflected on the horrific ordeal he'd been through.

"I mean, he had this… this _thing_, growing inside him. But I never asked if he was in danger, or…"

'…_if it posed such a threat to him that it could have killed him._'

He couldn't bring himself to say that last part aloud. A kind, quiet voice told him he hadn't had to.

"For what it's worth, Captain… if his life had been under _any_ kind of threat, I _would_ have told you."

His thoughts still focussed on all the '_if onlys_…' that could have protected his friend, Jon just nodded. Forever locked now inside his conscience, he'd have to live with those regrets, as best he could. More immediately, though, a change in his CMO's expression pushed all those thoughts aside, as he leaned over his shoulder.

"Have you found something?"

Still checking his data, Phlox then nodded. Clearly troubled by what he'd just seen, it was his turn now, to offer his Captain a glance of both regret and apology.

"Yes, Captain, I'm afraid so. Something I unforgivably missed when I first examined the Commander."

Pointing to the display that, Jon had to admit, was a blur of data, he then softly continued.

"There were minute traces of Synol in Commander Tucker's system. It's a hallucinogenic drug, outlawed in many parts of the galaxy."

If he was expecting the anger he knew he deserved, it was an even greater surprise when it didn't come. Or maybe the sadness on his Captain's face, in his voice, suggested that he'd suspected this already.

"From the gas they used during that decompression?"

"I would say so, Captain, yes. It fits with the timeline of exposure and effect," Phlox nodded, grateful for his understanding, but still furious with himself that he'd let the Xyrillians deceive him. As he then bitterly admitted, that deception had robbed them of crucial proof, and physical evidence.

"We can still use these scans, Captain, for any action you wish to take against them. But I'm afraid its original effect on Commander Tucker has long since metabolised out of his system."

Still watching his friend, Jon just nodded, his mind racing. His conscience equally stricken with guilt. All those times he'd called him from that damn ship. Scared. Trapped. Almost begging him for help.

'_I just want out_, _sir._ _I_'_m_ _not kiddin_'. _I can_'_t_ _take much more of this_!'

And his response, to the rising fear and panic in his voice? God, it would forever haunt him now.

'_Take a nap_, _Trip. T__hat_'_s_ _an order._'

The thought of what those sick bastards might have done in that time left him sick to his stomach. While his imagination ran horrifically away from him, though, his CMO's thoughts stayed where they were. But hearing what he'd worked out for himself already still made his skin crawl with utter disgust.

"I'm guessing it was used to subdue the Commander's ability to defend himself," he said quietly, glancing up at Jon for a moment, and taking the silent nod he found there as his cue to continue. "Under its effects, their insistence that he should sleep, while he was in such a vulnerable state…"

"…must have given them a real headache when Trip kept resisting," Jon finished for him, studying his friend in both pride at his defiance of this threat against him, and horror at its failure.

And while he was thinking about failures… oh, yes. Yes, the greatest one of all rested solely with him. How could he have been so naïve, to send Trip into a situation that went against all his instincts? First contact with an unknown species, whose actions should have instantly aroused his suspicions.

The way they'd stalked Enterprise. Disrupted their sensors, and kept to audio instead of visual contact. Shown such interest in his chief engineer. Such eagerness to 'accept his services' and… _damn it_!

Why the hell couldn't he have gotten that message from Starfleet, just nine damn days earlier? If the Vulcans really were their closest allies, then why hadn't they sent out this warning before?

A familiar anger now joined the bitter fury that was simmering just under Jon's ability to control it. Emotionless, arrogant bastards. God, no wonder he'd grown up with such resentment against them.

That had nothing, though, against the fury that raged through him as he glanced back towards Trip. Fury at the Xyrillians, for what they'd done to him. Fury at the Vulcans, for leaving it so late to send that warning. But most of all, anger at himself, for letting him down. Failing to protect him, so catastrophically badly.

Returning to his side, he sat carefully on the edge of his bed, resting his hand on Trip's shoulder. For several moments, he allowed himself the comfort of this contact – taking even greater consolation from knowing that Trip was now in the safest of hands now, as he rose again to his feet.

Meeting Phlox's eyes, he started to make his request, then nodded, and smiled, when a gentle voice told him he didn't need to.

"Don't worry, Captain. If you need to be elsewhere, I'll stay with him, until you get back."

As soon as he stepped through the door, though, and started striding down the corridor, the smile vanished from Jonathan Archer's face. He'd done all he could as an outraged friend. Now he had to act as an equally outraged Captain.


	6. Chapter 5 A Call To Arms

A/N: I mentioned in my previous note that the rest of the team would start to feature in this story. Well, that starts in this chapter, which I admit I felt a bit unsure about. Given Trip's reactions in the episode, would he really want other people to know what's happened to him?

That will be dealt with as his recovery in this story continues. But my other reason for bringing in the rest of 'Team Archer' (or Team Trip, in this case) was because I couldn't imagine how Jon could take on the Xyrillians without at least Malcolm and/or T'Pol knowing. Then it just seemed to follow that the rest of the bridge crew, including Lieutenant Hess, would also want to play their parts too.

Just to add, though, that I've used Anna for Hess's first name. It seems to be the most popular choice, at least in fanfic and fandom. I can't honestly remember hearing her first name in the series itself. But if anyone knows if her real name in canon is different, please let me know, and I'll change it.

Okay, enough of the explanations and scene setting - on with the chapter!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Five - A Call To Arms

Aside from two notable absences, the rest of Jonathan Archer's senior officers stood in uneasy silence in his ready room. If any of them were wondering why one of those absentees wasn't there, none were doing so aloud. Instead, they waited for their oddly grim faced Captain to brief them on this new, top priority mission. From his expression alone, as he rose from his desk, and even more from his tone of voice, it was… serious.

"Until I say otherwise, what I'm about to tell you stays between us. It does _not_ leave this room."

Answered by four puzzled faces, and one with a simply raised eyebrow, Jon glanced slowly along them. Malcolm. Travis. Hoshi. T'Pol. And, where Trip _would_ have been standing, Lieutenant Anna Hess.

Bright and cheerful, with the same wicked sense of humour, she and Trip were more like brother and sister than CO and second in command. With one possible exception, every person in this room, and on this ship, thought the world of him too. Trip was a colleague, a friend, a mentor, to all of them, and… God, this was going to tear them apart.

Best get this over with, he thought, so they could work through its aftermath, and focus on finding his attackers.

"You all know about our contact with the Xyrillians, and what… happened to Commander Tucker."

Just days ago, it had been the worst kept secret on Enterprise. To his eternal shame, he'd enjoyed it too. But now? No, just like their Captain, none of the officers who stood around him were smiling now. Not one of them showed any hint of amusement. Instead, they just nodded.

"I've been advised by Starfleet that this isn't the first time they've done this," he finally continued, knowing from the reaction on Malcolm's face that he'd already worked out where this was heading. For those who hadn't quite got there, or maybe couldn't _bring_ themselves to get there, he had to do it for them.

"Far from being our potential allies, the Xyrillians must be seen now, as a highly dangerous threat."

As he'd expected, T'Pol had started to get it too. But it was Malcolm, again, who spoke. Very quietly.

"For what they did to him, sir? To Commander Tucker, and these… others?"

Meeting his eyes, Jon found he had to take a long, deep breath, for the silent dread he found there.

"Yes, Malcolm, I'm afraid so. The result of what they did to him was no accident," he said at last, taking another deep breath, needing to take two more, before he could finally bring himself to say it. "Without his knowledge, or his consent, and most likely by force, Trip was coerced into their act of reproduction."

In stunned silence, four of the five faces around him betrayed the shock of what he'd just told them. A muscle jumped along Malcolm Reed's tightly clenched jaw. Travis just stood, in stunned disbelief. Beside him, Hoshi bit her lip against threatening tears, while Hess closed her eyes, as if in silent prayer.

Only T'Pol showed no obvious reaction. But Jon saw it in her eyes. Silent revulsion, and bitter regret. Leaving her to face them through her conscience, Jon let his own, stricken thoughts return to where they had to be.

"I don't need to tell any of you what such an act signifies. Or the effect that it's had on him."

No, he thought bitterly, glancing again around five devastated faces. He didn't need to tell them at all. This was an experience that would leave their colleague, their friend, in shock. Deeply traumatized. It would take days… weeks… maybe longer than that, much longer, before Trip recovered from it.

A full minute passed, before Malcolm quietly asked the questions that they'd all asked in their minds.

"How – How is he, sir? I – I mean, will he be all right?"

From anyone else, it may have sounded foolish, to think any victim of such trauma could ever be 'all right.' But asked in such concern, that was mirrored by everyone else around him, it now filled Jon with a sad form of pride. It would take time, of course, but with all this support to get him there… yes, Trip _would_ be all right.

"Well, he knows he's safe. And Phlox is doing all he can to bring him through this," he said at last, gently turning their thoughts back to the first, and maybe hardest step, in that long road of recovery. "And while his life isn't in any danger, Trip is relying on us too now, to bring the…"

"…bastards…" Malcolm supplied, mirroring Jon's thoughts so perfectly that he almost, _almost_ smiled.

At any other time, he'd have let that amusement show. But not on this occasion. Certainly not for this.

"…who did this to him to justice, so they're punished for what they've done," he said instead, allowing himself a nod of approval, in pride for the question that Malcolm now quietly put to him.

"We're going after them, sir?"

It wasn't so much a question, but more a demand for action. Retribution. An outraged call for justice. Driven by his own need to take the first two, and fight like hell to ensure the third, Jon met his eyes again, and nodded.

"Yes, Malcolm, we're going after them. With Starfleet's blessing, and with everything we've got."

From their reactions, and from Malcolm's especially, Jon knew it was just what they'd wanted to hear. God knew, he felt the same way. But with so much at stake, he still added a soft note of wiser caution.

"But we can't afford to be complacent, or make the mistake of under-estimating them again. As I said, they've got to be seen as a threat to us now. And _we've_ got to be ready for that."

Answered by five, seriously focussed faces, Jon now allowed a smile to appear fully, and proudly on his own. Wherever those sick SOBs were, who'd violated part of this family… oh, yes. They had no idea, in hell, of what was about to hit them.


	7. Chapter 6 Know Thine Enemy

A/N: Well, after my last author note (almost as long as a chapter!), this one's going to be _much_ shorter. All I'll say is, Team Archer's getting up quite the head of steam.

Enjoy!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Six - Know Thine Enemy

17:03. And for the second time since they'd started this mission, Jonathan Archer was calling his crew into action, against another hostile threat. This time, though, it had nothing to do with whoever had attacked the Axnar ship, and killed its crew. No, this was far more personal. Driven by pure fury at what had been done, to one of their own.

While he shared their anger and disgust, Jon knew he couldn't let their feelings cloud their judgement. They were up against a resourceful enemy. A renegade faction, from an otherwise peaceful world. Luckily, he had just the people on _his_ side who knew how to beat them, and who couldn't wait to do it. But as he'd just told them, he'd still take all the help he could find.

Some of it had already been offered. Thanks to another call to Starfleet, to an Admiral who was now as enraged as all of them were –

'…_when you find them_, _Jon_, _give_ '_em_ _hell_…'

– and the intel that Admiral had subtly pulled out of Soval and his contacts, Jon knew just where to start.

"The Council on the Xyrillian homeworld are as horrified by all this as we are," he said at last, nodding towards his workstation, where he'd taken the call he'd just concluded when they'd arrived. "Their Governor Sha'len has already promised me their full support."

Despite the resulting silence, Jon could still read what the rest of his command team were thinking. They'd been deceived once already, by this seemingly friendly race – with devastating consequences. After what had happened to Trip, could they be sure they weren't being so cruelly fooled again?

Jon couldn't blame them. When that call had come through, he'd felt exactly the same way. But the longer he'd watched Sha'len and his reactions, the more his doubts had subsided. His instincts had told him that the shock and disgust he'd seen on the Governor's face had been genuine. And as he now quietly explained, the Governor had every reason to be appalled by what had happened.

"This Trena'l and his crew are rebel scientists. They're acting completely against their Council's orders, and this… research they've been conducting has been outlawed on their planet for the dangers it involves."

As he'd done before, and done so often in the past, his tactical officer was already right there with him. And when you riled it enough, Malcolm Reed's genteel reserve tended to go the same way as one of his treasured torpedoes. Especially when someone he cared about, part of his surrogate family, came under _any_ kind of threat.

"So they're fugitives, then. Well, that certainly explains a lot about them," he muttered, half to himself – hesitating as he realized he'd spoken his thoughts aloud, but prompted by Jon's subtle nod to continue. "Their stealth technology, for a start. Why we experienced all those malfunctions with our sensors. And how fast they legged it when they were done with us."

Although he'd fully understood that little 'English-ism', Jon still smiled as he turned towards Hoshi. Not for her lingual skills, but another, equally valuable gift. What she lacked in tactical training, she more than made up for in the art of inter-species diplomacy.

"Hoshi, tell the Council what we're doing. Liaise with Governor Sha'len for any help we need. As I understand, he's already sent one of his own security teams to assist us."

Still shaken by what she'd been told, Hoshi was equally determined to play her part in resolving it. She couldn't have come through her own crisis of confidence without Trip's help. Now, it was time for her to return the favour, in whatever way she could. Answering her Captain with a more resolute smile, she watched his attention move on to T'Pol.

"They jammed our sensors the first time, so we couldn't see them, or recognize their threat. T'Pol, I need you to find a way past that. Work with Malcolm, find _any_ weakness we can use to get past them. This time, I want to see _exactly_ what we're up against."

As it had done so often in the past, her calmness helped to settle him too, enough to coax out another smile. In fact, Jon could feel the whole mood around him start to lift now, as his plan started to gather pace.

"Once we've found them, Travis, set your course, maximum warp. And since that brings me to you, Lieutenant…"

"…if we have to ramp 'em all the way to five, Captain, we'll get you there," Hess finished for him – a wry grin suggesting that bit about pushing her CO's beloved engines so hard might wisely be kept between them.

Returning it, if less freely than either of them would have liked, Jon nodded, then turned to Malcolm.

"Malcolm, go through your logs for their ship, its defences and systems. If it comes down to a fight…"

"…we'll be ready to take them down, sir. I can promise you that."

Equally heartfelt, there was another promise in his tactical officer's eyes. And now Jon _really_ smiled. Reflected through every one of the faces around him, it wasn't just for him this time, or for Starfleet. It was for Trip. The colleague, the friend, the surrogate brother, who'd been so cruelly violated.

'_We_'_re_ _going to find them. A__nd we_'_re going to make them pay._'

With their assignments now set, Jon could sense their impatience to get to work on them. He felt the same need to get things moving himself now, and dismissed them with an approving smile. They were the best crew in Starfleet. At times like this, it was an honour to lead them.

And speaking of honour - well, that brought him back to reality, and the calmly waiting presence behind him.

Not everyone had left him. As everyone else had filed through the door, just one person had stayed behind. Now their eyes met and held once more, finding acceptance now, for what both of them had to confront. He'd resolved the most urgent issues – to find the Xyrillians, and bring them to some sort of justice. But on a more personal level… yes, he could see in her eyes now, that she knew what was coming.

For the sake of a friend who couldn't do so himself, Jon took a deep breath, and quietly said it anyway.

"Before you get to work on those sensors, Sub Commander… you and I need to have a long overdue chat."


	8. Chapter 7 The First Duty

A/N: As you'll have realized, I rather enjoyed writing that last chapter! There's nothing like getting Team Archer all riled up for action to get the imagination going. And don't worry, there's more of that to come.

I rather enjoyed writing this one as well. I think we all agree that T'Pol (and, sadly, Jon too) treated Trip appallingly in the episode, and that was never addressed, or put right. At least in the world of fanfic, Jon's going to do that, in no uncertain terms.

Oh, and for those of you waiting for Trip to start reacting to what he's really been put through - well, it starts in the next chapter, and carries on from there.

Thanks again, for encouraging me so much through this story!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Seven - The First Duty

17:23. Hours yet, before he could even think about sleep.

Yet Jon was exhausted. Running, as Trip would say, on '_Cap_'_n_ _Power_' and… God, he needed that cheering humour now. How badly he needed, right now, to see the mischievously grinning face that could take the very worst of his moods, and lift it back into healing, soothing laughter.

Instead, he had to face T'Pol. Tell her a few home truths. And, he sadly reflected, face the same ones himself.

To her credit, she hadn't needed any order from him to stay behind, or even a less formal request. At the same time, though, he had to remember that scene in sickbay. The hurt and frustration he'd seen on Trip's face, as every part of his character had been trashed in front of his eyes.

Against the doubt of three people who should _all_ have known better, he'd struggled to defend himself:

_'Three days_. _You were only there for three days_, _and you couldn't_ _restrain yourself_.'

_'I'm tellin' you, Cap'n, I was a complete gentleman, the entire time_.'

'_I imagine that's a question of how you would define gentleman_.'

'_I_ _swear_, _Cap'n, nothin' happened_.'

Jon now winced, both at memory and realization for what had _really_ happened on that damn ship. From Trip's actions, at least - yes, he _had_ remembered to mind his manners. Yes, he _had_ been the perfect gentleman. Just as his mother had raised him, and as Starfleet had further instilled, he'd acted with every part of his personal and professional integrity intact.

But how cruelly had that been exploited, by those he'd agreed so eagerly to help. And how equally unfairly had his character been questioned, by someone who barely knew him. Who'd had no right, whatsoever, to subject him to such complete humiliation.

_'One of the first things a diplomat learns is not to stick his fingers where they don't belong_.'

Guilt now tugged again at his conscience. Made his head dip, in his own shame. He'd done nothing to intervene then. He'd just stood back, and enjoyed the show. Still bitterly regretting it, he was more than making up for it now.

"From _my_ misjudgements, and _your_ misassumptions, we've _both_ let him down," he said at last, letting his voice leave her in no doubt that her slurs on Trip's character had been grossly unjustified.

"Neither of us have come out of this with much of the honour that _you_ accused him of breaching. I sent him into that situation with no thought for his safety, or his protection. And you've questioned his character, where you had no right or reason to do so. I've known Trip a lot longer than you have, T'Pol. And not even I would have dragged his name through the mud, as you did. If I don't have that right, then you certainly don't. You don't know him nearly well enough yet to have done so. And, I would hope, I shouldn't need to tell you in the future, to _never_ question his integrity, or humiliate him like that again."

A pause then, to let that little tirade sink in, before his conscience made him continue, through thoughts of how they would have to put this behind them, and help Trip as well to move forward.

"The only person who has come through this with any degree of honour is Trip. And when all this is over, we'll both have one _hell_ of a fight on our hands, to regain his trust."

On the calm mask of her face, T'Pol showed little reaction to this softly furious rebuke. Instead, he saw it, in eyes that betrayed her acceptance of it. And he heard it, too, through the tone of her voice.

"You are right, Captain. I've misjudged the Commander's character, _and_ insulted his honour. And I _will_ apologize to him."

More used to his chief engineer and science officer at bickering loggerheads, Jon kept tactfully quiet. There was still a long way to go yet, before he'd get to see such a landmark moment. But as a quiet voice made clear to him, there'd be no arguments this time. Just the offer of help, that could form the most crucial part of his recovery.

"There are… techniques, Captain… in meditation, which may help him through this… trauma."

To his grateful surprise, Jon found himself smiling back at her, in real appreciation for her support. No, he realized, not just support, or as close to an admission of fault that a Vulcan could make. Sooner than he'd expected, this was part of that landmark moment. A simple gesture of friendship. And anything that could bring Trip through this horrific experience _had_ to be worth taking.

It would be Trip's decision, of course, and he was still a long way off from being able to make it. But if it helped him through this unthinkable ordeal, then… yes, Jon knew it was worth considering.

"Well, when he's ready for that, then… yes. We can certainly suggest it to him," he agreed, part of his smile fading a little, as he realized the long and painfully difficult road that still lay ahead. Again, exhaustion washed over him. Again, he forced it back. His place had to be at Trip's side now.

Still, it was a comfort to know that she would now at least understand why.

"But until then, T'Pol… until we find them, I need to be with him. So… well, you have the conn."

As he'd expected, she'd already answered this request with a calm nod. Then again, he thought dryly, she was used to it.

"I'll advise you as soon as we find them, Captain. Until we do, I'll see that you are _not_ disturbed."

Oh, he didn't doubt that for a minute. And, he thought through a privately wry smile, God help anyone who dared to try.

He was still smiling when, after quickly checking on Porthos, he then returned to Trip's quarters. To his relief, he was still sleeping, and looking rather better than he'd done before. Curled into a snug huddle of bedclothes, he was - yes. Yes, safe in his dreams, he was actually smiling.

Phlox looked happier too, as he moved away from his side, and quietly reported on his progress.

"His fever's come down, Captain. Now we just need to let him sleep. Let his system recover."

Reminded again of what his system was having to recover _from_, the doctor then frowned. Although he'd never faced this situation before, the needs of his patient still came naturally easily to him. Even if he knew his advice was so obvious that it wasn't needed, duty compelled him to offer it anyway.

"And in the circumstances, I'd suggest he stays here, in familiar surroundings, where he feels safe and unthreatened."

From where he'd now stationed himself at Trip's shoulder, Jon nodded in still distracted agreement – confirming what his CMO already knew, in an observation that brought a proud smile back to the Denobulan's face. While not in any physical danger, his patient would still need monitoring through the coming night. He'd need the presence of someone who he trusted, completely, to offer him comfort.

He was all ready to volunteer himself, of course, but… well, in hindsight, he should have known better. Where you had a sick or injured Trip Tucker, you'd know his Captain would never be far from his side. In the long and difficult days to come, Phlox knew he'd need that support, more than ever before.

But for now, he lay in a deep, healing sleep. Oblivious to the friend who watched so anxiously and protectively over him. As Phlox also observed, his Captain was oblivious to his presence too, _and_ his next words of advice.

"Keep him comfortable, Captain, and warm, but _not_ so much as to smother him," he said gently – that last part perfectly timed as Jon started to drape another blanket around Trip's shoulders. A mumbled protest, and fretful wriggle, told him he really didn't need it.

Removing it, Jon conceded defeat through a sheepish grin, and an almost embarrassed admission as he watched Trip settle back to sleep.

I know, Phlox, but… God, after what he's been through, and to see him like this, it's damn hard not to."

It had been damn hard, too, to keep the tiredness and the emotion out of his voice. Comforting reassurance for both came through a firm hand on his shoulder, and the compassion in his CMO's voice.

"Yes, Captain, I know. You're as worried about him as any friend, or the brother I know you see yourself as being to him, would be. But he _will_ be all right. We _will_ get him through this."

A trace of a smile had returned now, to his Captain's face. It silently told him now, that it was the right time for him to leave his patient in the very safest of hands. Smiling too, Phlox packed away his kit, then headed towards the door - pausing there to glance behind him, and a scene of welcome calm.

"I'll be back in the morning. But if his condition changes at all, Captain, call me straight away."

Once he'd gone, Jon glanced back at Trip, grateful for the peace this albeit induced sleep had brought him. Resting his hand on his shoulder, he then settled in for what he hoped would be an equally peaceful night.


	9. Chapter 8 Behind Closed Doors

A/N: Well, here we are, at chapter eight. As I mentioned in my last note, this is where Trip starts to realize what's been done to him. Without making it too graphic (I just can't write anything like that), I hope I've still conveyed the horror he would feel. I've also thought that, like most victims of such a traumatic event, he wouldn't recognize straight away what those memories would really signify.

Anyway, as far as possible for another, rather troubling chapter, I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Eight - Behind Closed Doors

Trip returned slowly, into a world of comfort and warmth. Coffee, too. The irresistible aroma of coffee, that made his stomach quiver with yearning. As his vision came more into focus, he found its source. _And_ the person who was lucky enough to be enjoying it.

Still half asleep, he then frowned. These were _his_ quarters. So what the hell was Jon doing in them? Why was he sitting at _his_ desk, frowning at _his_ terminal, when… well, he had his own to frown at?

He had his own quarters too. Bigger ones, and nicer ones, though that's what you got when you got to be the Cap'n, and -

_God_! _Damn it_!

That last part came out as a startled yelp, as a still aching body protested his attempts to get up, and find out what the hell was happening.

So focussed on the latest reports of progress from T'Pol, and the rest of his team, Jon hadn't realized he'd woken at all. But he'd certainly heard him. And he sure as hell reacted to it, rising from his seat, and almost running to Trip's side, as he tried again, so typically stubbornly, to sit upright.

"Trip! Whoa, easy now, lie still. Don't try to sit up yet, you've had a fever, you're not… not meant to be awake yet."

With or without that puzzled frown on Trip's face, Jon realized what he'd said just a tad too late. It coaxed out a much needed smile, for the priceless '_what_-_the_-_hell?' _glare that Trip now threw at him. He'd have to make the most of it, too. Those sedatives would only keep their effect on him for so long. Judging by the frown that had settled on Trip's face, they were already fading.

And he _wasn_'_t _happy.

"Hittin' four point six _always_ wakes me up," he shot back, not knowing what concerned him more – the worry he saw on Jon's face, or the star trails that streaked past his window in a blur of warp speed.

Finding a compromise for that first part, he lay gratefully back again - smiling his thanks for the coffee that Jon now passed to him, while he doggedly pursued the second.

"So, where are we goin' so fast that it's fryin' my engines?"

Wondering how his friend _always_ managed to do that, Jon wished he could enjoy its humour. This favourite, long running joke between them, as to how his chief engineer could just close his eyes, feel his ship accelerate beneath him - and guess her speed almost down to decimal points. More seriously, though, he was as surprised by the extent of Trip's recovery as he was relieved.

Ironically, it was the _calmness_ of it that made him wonder if those meds were still working after all. Or, as Phlox had quietly warned last night, maybe he'd just blanked those thoughts out of his mind. Either way, he now answered his friend's question as gently as he could, before he had to ask it again.

"We're going after the Xyrillians, Trip, because… well, we – we need to find them."

If he hadn't been fully alert before, then… well, his chief engineer was certainly wide awake now. Glancing down at his still aching ribs, Trip then re-met Jon's eyes, with a storm of emotions in his own. Not surprisingly, it was several moments before he managed to speak, his voice now tellingly quiet.

"'cause of what they did to me? 'cause of… of… _that_?"

Also glancing to where the '_that_…' in question had once blighted his friend's body, Jon nodded. Still trying to gauge how much of its cause his friend was coherently remembering, he then paused. Used those moments to study Trip's eyes, until they told him that he was ready for him to continue.

"Yes, Trip, because of what they did to you. And for what they've done before, to others as well."

He'd said it as gently as he could, but Trip still reacted to it, just as Jon had known he would. Swallowing hard, he stared back at him. His eyes grew even wider, until white completely circled contrasting blue.

"_Others_? You – You mean, they've done this to – to other _people_?"

Again, Jon took the moment he needed to gather his thoughts, and find the right words to express them. After telling Admiral Forrest, and then his senior officers, this was the third time he was having to do this, and… God, it was going to be the hardest one of all.

"Yes, Trip, they have. I was, uh… told about them yesterday, by Admiral Forrest," he said at last, condensing all he'd learned so far into the only details that a still dangerously vulnerable friend needed to know.

"They're renegades, Trip. On the run from their own government for… well, illegal research."

Still struggling to take all this in, Trip started to reply – but then found he couldn't. Just… _couldn_'_t_. Out of everything that Jon had told him, one word had lodged in his mind. Tugged at a closed door inside it, until it began to reluctantly open.

_Research_.

The door had opened wider now. Letting him see images, feel memories, that slowly began to connect.

A chamber, filling with gas.

Disorientating lights.

A struggle to breathe. Blurred vision. Stifling heat.

His head, threatening to explode.

A sense of panic. A feeling that he was in danger. _Terrible_ danger.

Jon's voice, telling him that it was all in his mind. That everything was all right. Telling him to… sleep. Take a nap.

A sudden, irresistible need to do so.

His body feeling ever so heavy, denied movement and resistance, as a blur of presences moved silently around him.

Then calmness.

Tingling blue light against his mouth.

Alien landscapes. A boat, rocking beneath him.

A smiling face. _Her_ face. More of that tingling. A box of pebbles. His hands, glowing too, inside them.

_Research_.

Again, Trip glanced down at his side. With shaking fingers, he brushed them where it had been. No, not _it_. Growing inside him, _she_ had been healthy. The accident of an innocent, enjoyable 'game.'

Trip blinked. Then he frowned. No, it hadn't been that. It hadn't been a _game_, it had been… _research_. Research that had left an alien life form growing inside him.

So, not a game. Not _any_ kind of game. Only Ah'Len had seen it as such a harmless activity. But for him - no. No, for him, it had been -

- violation.

Physical violation against his body, and most likely his mind.

Violation.

Rape.

Now it hit him. So hard, so unforgivingly hard, that he started to shake. The world spun into a blur. Watching him, recognizing the horror behind his reactions, Jon felt his own world shatter around him.

He's remembered. Oh, Christ. _He knows_.

And that realization now tore itself out of Trip's soul, in a single, piercing scream

"_Noooooooo_!"


	10. Chapter 9 The Darkest Hour

A/N: So, Trip now knows the truth about what's happened to him - and his friendship with Jon is about to face its toughest test.

* * *

Violations

Chapter Nine - The Darkest Hour

Rarely, if ever, had Jonathan Archer felt so utterly helpless. At a loss as to what to say. What to do. How to face his closest friend, or simply to communicate with him. The friend who still sat just inches from him, yet light years away.

Lost and trapped in his own, tortured world, Trip stared into space. It was his eyes, though, that still held Jon in his own personal nightmare. Confirmed every one of his worst fears. They held an anguish, the most cruelly inflicted shame, that had only come from one cause. One realization.

He'd made the connection. Realized what had been done to him. What _they_'_d_ done to him.

Twenty minutes had passed, since it had hit him. Since he'd screamed, and collapsed into Jon's arms. In a near hysteria of tears, he'd clung to him like a terrified child, until he'd cried himself empty. Now, the anger had hit with the same, brutal force. Overwhelmed him. Swept him helplessly away. Everything in its path was gone too. Including, it seemed, the trust behind eight years of friendship.

Pushing himself out of that stricken friend's arms, he'd curled himself into this defensive huddle. Backed against the wall behind his bed, his arms still wrapped liked vices around his knees, Trip sat motionless. His eyes locked, unblinking, on a target somewhere beyond Jon's right shoulder, that only he could see.

Just as Jon had been himself, he couldn't move. Couldn't speak. All he could do, barely, was breathe. A human statue, frozen in a world where no one, not even his closest friend, could offer him comfort. Jon wasn't even sure now, if he still held that honour.

Twenty one minutes now Almost twenty two.

And still, within the space of less than two metres, they remained miles… worlds… galaxies apart. The only way he could plead for this crippling silence to end was through the silence of his own mind.

'_Trip_, _please_… _even if it_'_s_ _to wish me in_ _hell_, _for sending you over there_… _please_, _Trip_, _talk to me_…'

Silence. Again, this awful, deafening silence. As he'd done all the previous times, Jon could only resign himself to it. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes, bitterly wondering what he, what Trip, had done, to deserve this.

Good people. They were both _good people_. Without question, they'd help anyone who needed it. And wasn't that the perfect kicker, to think all this had happened from an act of simple humanity?

God, if this didn't take the prize of all time, for bite-you-in-the-ass irony, and slap-you-in-the-face injustice –

"H-How many, Jon? These others… how many?"

– well, he'd think about that at a more appropriate time.

Right now, he had to scrape himself off the ceiling. The voice that had asked that question had barely made it past a whisper, but it had still startled him. But as he met Trip's eyes, and found he was allowed to keep their contact, he really didn't care. He'd better answer his question soon, though, or this vital breakthrough wouldn't last very long.

"Fi-Five, Trip. Five that… well, Starfleet knows about. That Admiral Forrest told me about, from Soval, and - and the High Command."

Against this rambling answer, Trip's response to it was strikingly short. A simple, silent nod. Jon could only imagine the questions that his friend would be struggling to process behind it. How could a simple mission to an alien ship have led to this? What had been done to him? This most reviled of violations?

But then Trip's head turned a little, so that Jon found himself square in the sights of his eyes. His next question was equally brief. And, to anyone who recognized its tone, deadly serious.

"_And_?"

No-one, not even Jonathan Archer, would dare to try and fudge his way through _that_ tone of voice. Or those impossibly piercing eyes. After being so cruelly deceived, there was no way, in hell, that Trip was going to tolerate any more breaches of his trust. Any more lies, or fudged half truths - even if they were meant so genuinely to protect him.

No, even in his current state, he'd still sensed that Jon was holding something back from him. Now, all Jon had to do was figure out his reply. How to break this other, devastating news. It took several moments, and the prompt of a raised eyebrow, before he managed to do so.

"One of them, Trip, a – a Denizian trader, he… well, they – he died, Trip. He - He didn't survive."

A pause, then. More awkward silence, that Jon felt he had to fill, just to keep them talking. In his anxiety, though, or maybe just from the strain of what he'd had to face, he instantly regretted it. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he'd made a massive, possibly irrecoverable mistake.

"The pregnancy, Trip, he… he didn't survive the pregnancy."

Five seconds passed. Five more. And still Trip sat staring at him, out of those wide, disbelieving eyes. Then, for the second time within the same minute, his actions took Jon completely by surprise. Glancing down at himself, at the shirt he'd worn to hide the bulge of life inside him, he rose to his feet. Before Jon could react, or even think to stop him, he then strode towards his bathroom, his face a blank.

His voice, though, was as flat, and cold, and emotionless, as a robot's - merely hinting at the state of his mind.

"I need a shower."

Then he was gone. Through the door, and locking it behind him.

Standing helplessly beside it, Jon felt his entire world crash down around him. Everything that he wanted - needed - so much to say was lost now, against this new barrier between them. For a moment, he thought about calling Phlox, but then realized the doctor would be as unable to reach his friend as he was. No, all he could do was stare at that damn door, and try to accept that the friend he saw more as a brother was now farther away from him than ever.

What terrified him even more, though, was that he had no idea on how he could get Trip back. If he'd now _ever_ get him back.


	11. Chapter 10 Towards The Dawn

A/N: This chapter marks two turning points. The first is that it's halfway through the story (assuming my bunnies stop throwing all these evil ideas at me!)

More seriously, this is where Trip starts to recover from his ordeal. Needless to say, it won't be easy.

* * *

Violations

Chapter Ten - Towards The Dawn

The door opened, and Trip stepped through it, still towelling his hair as he navigated his way back to his bed. When he reached it, he stopped – as startled to find Jon there as Jon was himself, by a question that held more surprise than anger.

"You're – You're still here?"

Recovering himself, as best he could when he saw what Trip was carrying, Jon had to force himself to nod. Then the alarm he'd felt at seeing the holdall in Trip's hand was soothed away by a calmer, more logical voice. They were light years away from Earth, with no viable means to return to it, or even to Jupiter Station. And with no planets near them, that could support any form of life… well, Enterprise was all they had.

From the dazed frown that he now saw on Trip's face, he knew his friend had started to realize that too. Not the friend he knew so well, though. Not the brilliant engineer, or the life and soul of every party.

No. Staring blankly down at the bag in his hand, _this_ Trip was lost. Hopelessly, and now alarmingly, lost. Shock, Jon told himself, hating the sight of this bewildered husk of humanity that had taken his place.

'_He_'_s_ _in shock_, _and_… _gently_, _Jon_, _you need to bring him out of it_… _really_, _really_ _gently._'

Resisting a now overwhelming urge to touch him, Jon reached instead for the bag. Slowly, very slowly, he eased it out of Trip's fingers – letting that movement, rather than physical contact, ease his friend back into some form of awareness. His voice, too, was calm and quiet. Telling him everything that, pray to God, Trip now needed to hear.

"Of course I'm here, Trip. Where else would I be now, when you… well, when you need me?"

It was such a simple question. An offer of comfort and reassurance, for a friend who needed it so badly. But there was no recognition for it in Trip's eyes. At least, Jon silently told himself, it wasn't there _yet_. But it _would_ come back. He'd fight like hell, for both of them, to get that, and Trip, back.

Until it did, he would just have to bear the awful blankness in those eyes, and wait for it to clear. Just as he'd have to tell himself that the faint, scared voice he now heard would eventually go too.

"I – I don' know! Christ, Jon, I'm – I'm not sure I know _anythin_' right now."

Still watching him, Jon wanted more than ever now, to just hold his friend. To try to offer him comfort. Again, though, he knew it was too soon for that. He'd have to wait for Trip to show that he could accept it. As his rising voice suggested, there was still far too many emotions surging through him to even try.

"I – I mean, one minute I'm talkin' to you, an' – an' the next thing I know, I'm takin' a shower!"

As suddenly as his voice had risen, though, so both that, and his strength, came crashing down again. So did Trip. As his legs suddenly refused to support him, he thudded down onto the edge of his bed. Staring at the holdall beside him, he looked, and sounded, more hopelessly lost and scared than ever

"An' – An' packin' _that_… like I've got anywhere… anywhere else to go…"

That did it. Whether he was offering it too soon, or too physically, or even too late, Jon didn't care. All he cared about right now was Trip. His friend, his brother, who needed him, as he never had before.

Sitting beside him, he placed the gentlest of hands on Trip's shoulder, and watched for his reaction. He even held his breath, so that he would be able to feel its physical equivalent of silent resistance – only releasing it when, to a surge of relief that brought tears to his eyes, neither of them came. If Trip could allow him this simple but precious contact, and nothing else… God, yes, he'd take it.

"You're in shock, Trip. After what you've been through, you're – you're in shock," he said at last, trying to build on this vital breakthrough, as he saw the first flicker of awareness return to Trip's eyes.

It was little more than a frown, of course. A silent struggle to understand what was being said to him. The same confusion any victim would show, as they tried to make sense of what had happened to them. Again, though, if it meant Trip was trying to fight his way out of it, Jon would gratefully take it – just as he'd say what Trip needed so much to hear, keep on saying it, until he finally believed him.

"But whatever you do, or say… whatever you need to do, Trip, to get through this… I'm here."

A deeper frown this time. A war of emotions, too, fighting for victory across that pale, haggard face. Fear. Bewilderment. Shame. Then the forces, trying to defeat them. Relief. Gratitude. Hope.

And still Jon kept going. Softly. Quietly. Giving him all the strength he could, to win this vital battle.

"I'm _right here_, Trip. I'm not going _anywhere_… we're going to get through this, Trip, the same way we've come through everything else. Together, Trip. We're going to get through this _together._"

Then it was his turn to frown. With no awareness of it, both his hands now held Trip's shoulders. From the surprise on Trip's face, he was as startled by it, and felt even more shocked, than he did. And the tremors that Jon could feel now, running through his whole body, made him wince in horror –

_'Too soon. Oh, God, I've done this too soon_.'

- a reaction that only increased as he felt one of the bravest people he'd ever met collapse against him. From this simple offer of belief, and support, the dam had broken, and so had Trip. Crashing into Jon's arms, he shook. And shook. And shook.

Yet Jon could feel himself smile now, as he wrapped his arms around him, and held him gently closer. The distance between them was gone. More than that, Trip now wanted his comfort. Needed, welcomed, his presence.

Until those tears stopped, and for as long as it took beyond them, he'd give him all the comfort, and strength that he could. God, he'd give him everything.

"It's all right, Trip, I've got you… easy now, it's all right… I've got you, Trip… I've got you."


	12. Chapter 11 The Strength Of True Courage

A/N: I must admit, it was a relief to start writing these chapters that will bring Trip through his recovery. I love the character so much that, at times, it was quite unsettling to put him through such an awful ordeal. As I said in my earlier note, his recovery won't be easy - but at least in this chapter, he's heading in the right direction.

As always, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Eleven - The Strength Of True Courage

Again, Trip woke slowly, into the same comforting warmth. The same aroma of freshly made coffee. And, of course, the same face, as Jon sat carefully beside him, and offered him a reassuring smile.

"Hey, you're looking better for that sleep. Are - Are you feeling it, Trip? Better, I mean. Can I get you anything?"

A tad too late, Jon realized that he wasn't quite ready yet, to answer two such closely asked questions. After ten hours in deepest, flat out sleep, it was going to take a few more moments for him to climb fully out of it. Finally, though, a faint smile answered the first question. An equally sleepy voice answered the second.

"S'me o' that'd be nice."

Roused by a mugful of Chef's finest coffee, Trip started to look, and feel, rather more human. Maybe it was Jon's presence, or the effects of that coffee, but something else was trying to return too. Interest in his surroundings. That famously insatiable curiosity. Watching the stars, still streaking past his window, he frowned for a moment, then finally spoke.

"If you're here wi' me, then who's… who's cap'nin' the ship?"

So grateful now, for all those years he'd spent tuning in to that accent, Jon smiled as he refilled his coffee. He knew some people still struggled with it, even when Trip was wide awake. But he'd understood enough of this still sleep-thickened drawl to make a reasonabe stab at answering it.

"Well, T'Pol's got the conn, Trip. She's on the Bridge, taking care of that, while I…"

"…take care o' me," Trip finished for him, through one of the most precious sights he'd ever seen.

Not just the smile now, but the greater breakthrough beyond it. Silent gratitude for his presence. And in the soft words that followed, the clearest sign yet that his friend was starting to fight back.

"I'm way too old for such coddlin', Jon, but I'm… I'm glad you're here."

Smiling too now, Jon started to reply. Then he thought better of it, and instinctively waited instead – for the quieter, hesitant question that reminded them of the more serious issues they still had to face.

"So, she – she knows? 'bout this, an'… an' what they did to me?"

Already prepared for this moment, Jon nodded while placing his hand gently on Trip's shoulder. To his relief, he was becoming more and more comfortable with this contact now. He even seemed to welcome it. Considering what he was about to say, Jon just hoped this latest sign of healing trust would continue.

"Yes, Trip, she does. So does Malcolm, Hoshi, Travis, and Lieutenant Hess," he said at last, keeping his hand resolutely where it was, even as he felt the tension that had inevitably flinched under it. He fully understood its cause, but he had to make his friend understand why telling them had been so necessary. And, more importantly, he had to know how anxious they all were, to help him through his recovery.

"If we're to find them, Trip… stop them from doing this again… well, I felt they had to know."

To his relief, Trip was already nodding his understanding. As he'd expected, though, he didn't reply. Instead, he glanced down at his side. Solid and firm again, under one of his favourite shirts.

_Normal_.

This simple definition made him smile now, as Trip ran his fingers where its opposite had once been. The 'condition' he'd been put in hadn't exactly been a secret. Hell, it had been the talk of the ship. It really didn't surprise him, then, that its most senior officers had been told the truth about its cause. And as a quiet voice now reminded him, there'd be differences this time. Small, but crucial differences.

"It's just them, Trip. No-one else knows about this. And I promise you, _this_ time it'll stay that way."

He'd meant it, too. Every word. Trip only had to see the complete seriousness in his eyes to know that. But as Trip then reminded him, through another of those rueful smiles, that little horse had long since bolted.

"We're on a starship, Jon. An' in case you forgot, we've been down this road before."

There'd been enough humour on his face to take the sting out of his words, but Jon had still felt it. Without his support, or intervention to stop it, Trip had endured days of complete humiliation. So to see him now, facing the same thing again so calmly, threw him out on the mother of loops – especially when Trip followed that little beauty up with one that threw him out even further.

"'sides, when you let Malcolm loose on that ship, people are gonna start wonderin' what's goin' on."

Another excellent point, that didn't just surprise Jon now. It made him smile too, so very proudly. He'd always seen Trip as one of the bravest people he'd ever known. Now he was just… the bravest.

Damn smart too. Much smarter than people fooled by that _'awww, shucks. ma'am..._' charm gave him credit for. And, of course, he was absolutely right. When Malcolm set his sights on Trenal's ship - God, yes. All hell was going to break loose.

"If you're sure, Trip, then… yes. I think telling the rest of the crew is the right thing to do," he said at last, sliding his arm more fully around his shoulders, and meeting that resilience with a smile of pure pride. "And you can be sure of this too… every single person on this ship is going to get you through this, Trip. Every step of the way."

It was Trip's turn to smile now, as he found fresh strength and courage for what he'd just agreed to do. As Jon knew himself, it would pave the way for the greater challenge that he could still face afterwards. _If_ they found the Xyrillian ship,_ if_ they managed to get it, and its renegade crew, back to face justice – well, Jon knew he'd almost certainly have to live through the whole ordeal, all over again.

Still, he thought, chastising himself for not practising what he'd preached the previous day, they'd cross that mother of bridges _when_ they came to it. For now, though, he needed to re-build the smaller bridges that would enable them both to get there. And as with all such cases of construction, the foundations for this first one had to be faultless. All of which led him, rather nervously, into one of the most crucial speeches he was ever likely to make.

"But until you're ready to do that, Trip… if you want, we'll do it together… well, I need to give you one _hell_ of an apology."


	13. Chapter 12 The Captain's Conscience

A/N: Hmmm, this chapter turned into a bit of a beast - the longest one so far! But it had to be, to cover the apology I wish we'd seen in the episode. The question is - how willing is Trip to accept it?

Enjoy!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Twelve - The Captain's Conscience

One hell of an apology. That's how he had described it, and… God, he hadn't been joking. The more he thought about what Trip had been through, the more Jon's conscience had demanded it. So, while Trip sat listening to him, too startled to agree with him, disagree, or just to get a word in edgewise, he ploughed on. Laid out every piece of his guilt, while praying that eight years of friendship would absolve them.

"I let you down, Trip. For every part of what happened to you, I've let you down," he said softly, finding it impossible now, to look into Trip's eyes, and see the trust he knew he didn't deserve. At least, he didn't deserve it _yet_. But he would. And, he hoped, sooner rather than later.

More immediately, though, he felt suddenly restless. A need to get up, and get moving, as if to try and release some of the tension that he'd kept bottled up inside him. Rising to his feet, he paced several strides towards the window, before he turned back again - noting that puzzled concern had now filled Trip's eyes. Almost as if he knew what was coming.

And come it did - more fiercely than Jon had intended.

"I mean, what the hell was I thinking? Sending you to them, when we knew _nothing_ about them? That's a mistake you _might_ get away with as a rookie, just out of training, but - God, Trip. I walked into that situation greener than _any_ rookie, let alone a Starfleet captain."

Realizing from Trip's reaction that his anger wasn't helping either of them, he stopped it instantly, willing himself to calm down as he returned to Trip's side. Placing his hand back on his shoulder, he was about to continue – but Trip quietly beat him to it.

"Jon, it – it was a simple first contact. You couldn't have known what they were gonna do…"

'…_any more than I did_…'

He'd thought that last part, rather than saying it aloud. Made his point, simply through his eyes. Slowly, reluctantly, Jon accepted it. But still he couldn't quite smile. His conscience just wouldn't allow it.

"But I _still_ knew you were in trouble over there. God knows, Trip, you tried enough times to tell me."

If he'd been bothered about keeping score, Jon knew that point would defy any kind of argument. When he saw Trip's eyes change, darken that tiny shade from azure towards cobalt, he knew he'd get one anyway.

"And yeah… God knows, _you_'_re _kickin' yourself now, that you didn't take me more seriously."

Still stung by this outburst that he'd already known was coming, Jon could only nod. However angry Trip was about to get - yes, he deserved it. He deserved everything that was about to hit him. All he could do was make the apology that still sounded so hollow.

"I know, Trip… and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Trip, I should have got you the hell out of there."

"Yeah, you should. An' that's somethin' I know you'd do anythin' right now to change," Trip shot back, his turn now to get up, and pace across to his window. Just as Jon had done, he turned there, and looked back - his eyes silently defying Jon to try and interrupt him.

"An' that's the thing, isn't it, Jon? I mean, you do this to yourself, _all_ the time. Act with the best intentions, then whack yourself out with a baseball bat when things go wrong with 'em. Yeah, you _should've_ listened to me. Yeah, you _should've_ realized I was in trouble. And yeah, you _should've_ gotten me outta there. But the simple fact is - you didn't."

With that point well and truly made, Trip returned to sit on the edge of his bed. As Jon noted, his eyes were still dangerously dark. Along with the guilt that still weighed down on his shoulders, it was the only thing Jon needed to see to keep wisely quiet, and let Trip continue.

"An' can you do anythin' to change that, Jon? Can you do _anythin_' about any of that to stop what happened to me?"

Still lost in guilt, Jon hadn't quite caught the lifeline that Trip had gently thrown out to him. It took a gentle shake on his arm to get his attention. And more quietly meaningful questions to guide him towards it.

"Can you do anythin' _now_, Jon? Can you do anythin' to help me, right _here_? _Right now_?"

Almost immediately, before Jon could recover enough to respond, Trip's eyes changed again. Back to calm, clear blue, and brightened still more by the faint smile that had also returned to his face.

"You're forgettin' here, Jon, how well I know you. Hell, I know you better than _you_ know you!"

Jon was starting to smile too now. But not as quickly, and nowhere near as genuinely, as Trip wanted. Regretting your mistakes was part of life's journey, of course, but from his own eventful experience – well, as his momma had so often told him, '_them_ _who break glass houses shouldn_'_t_ _toss no stones_…'

Hell, yes. He'd broken his share of those. Damn, he'd pulled stunts in his time that could have had him committed. For the friend who'd raised saving his ass into an art form… well, there was only one thing left to say.

"An' as you've told me, all the times when _I_'_ve_ screwed up, hindsight is _wonderfully_ twenty twenty."

More than anything now, Jon wanted to enjoy that smile on Trip's face. This humbling forgiveness, that came from so much of his character. Until he understood it, though, or knew where it had come from… no, he couldn't accept it either. So instead, he just bowed and shook his head, struggling through his mind for the right things to say – then stared in utter amazement when the softest of voices tried to save him the trouble.

"An' if you're waitin' for me to get mad, and start throwin' things at you, like that time back at Starfleet… well, you're gonna have a long wait. 'cause I know the person who's madder than I could ever be right now is you. 'cause I know nothin' I say will give you the same kick up the ass as your own conscience. An' I know you'll beat yourself up over this, Jon, long after you need to. Long after this is all over."

Pausing to let this sink in, and waiting for Jon to pick up the hint from its last part, Trip then sighed – allowing himself just a flash of rueful 'hindsight' as he glanced towards his beloved old diving suit. Not for the first time, and surely not the last, he really wished he'd remembered to pack its flippers. They'd be perfect for all those times, like this one, when his Cap'n needed a damn good whack.

Instead, he just had his voice. A quiet, more serious need, to try and make his friend understand why this mother of guilt trips wasn't doing _this_ Trip any favours.

"But all the time you're doin' that, Jon, it's remindin' _me_ of everythin' _I_'_m_ tryin' to leave behind. How can I start puttin' this behind me, if I'm tryin' to straighten _you_ out at the same time? 'cause with everythin' I'm havin' to deal with here, Jon, I don't need that. I really don't."

Yeah, that did it. Jon's eyes had widened so far now, they looked about ready to drop out their sockets. And yes, Trip could see how hard he was trying to find something to say. The _right_ things to say. But from good ol' Southern pride, and its equally fierce loyalty, he wasn't quite done with him yet.

"See, Jon, the way I see it, I've got a choice here, on how to get through this," he said at last, following Jon's earlier lead, and rising to his feet again, as if the extra height could help him make his point. "I can either let this thing ruin my life, or I can try to get past it… find a way to live with it."

_Now_ he had the smile he wanted. As real, and as proudly accepting, as the quiet words that followed.

"And I'm guessing the best way for you to do that…"

"…is to help you find that ship, Jon… an' make sure no-one else _ever_ goes through this again."

So there it was. The moment of acceptance and understanding that both of them had been searching for. And somehow, a proud hug didn't seem enough to mark its significance. How much it meant to them. And it really didn't deserve to be interrupted by a call from the Bridge, that threw so many other emotions into the mix.

"T'Pol to Captain Archer. Sir, we've found them. We'll intercept in just over two hours."

That brought everything instantly back into perspective. Inevitably, it also brought Trip straight back into the hell of what he'd been put through. Staring, as Trip still was, towards the comm beside him, Jon tightened his arm around his shoulders – waiting for the shadows in Trip's eyes to clear again, before softly, and gently, restoring his courage.

"We've got you this far, Trip. We'll get you through the rest of it. We'll get you through _all_ of it."


	14. Chapter 13 Beneath The Surface

A/N: Well, after Jon's apology, and T'Pol's announcement at the end of that last chapter, this chapter sees Trip trying to prepare himself for when they catch Trena'l's ship.

Through my thoroughly warped imagination, he's also remembering more of what he saw, and did, and felt, while he was aboard. Yes, I think my plot bunnies were in an especially evil mood that day!

Enjoy!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Thirteen - Beneath The Surface

If there was anyone born to be out here, exploring the stars, Jon thought – yes, that person would always be Trip. Standing beside his window, he was as captivated by them now as he'd always been.

Of course, there were other reasons for him to be standing there, so quietly. So lost in thoughts, and memories. Silent apprehension for what the coming hours might bring.

The time.

12:18.

Just under an hour to go now, until the next stage in his recovery could begin. And despite the determination he'd heard in his friend's voice, when that call had come through –

"_I_'_m _– _I_'_m okay_, _Jon_… _really_, _I_'_m_ _fine_…"

– that tiny hesitation, and the shadows he'd see flit through Trip's eyes had, as always, betrayed him.

Recognizing that as the moment for tactful silence, and even greater support, Jon had just nodded. Squeezed his shoulder, offered him quiet words of encouragement, before giving him the space he needed to prove his own convictions.

That had been an hour ago, and Trip had barely moved from that spot beside his window. He hadn't said much either. Or, to Jon's quiet concern, eaten much from that tray of toast and eggs. That would always set Jon's protective instincts on edge. When Trip Tucker lost his appetite, you knew something pretty serious lay behind it.

He still loved his coffee, though, smiling his thanks for the latest mugful that Jon now passed to him. The hand that took its now customary place on his left shoulder was appreciated the same way – especially when he finished chewing his lower lip, and finally revealed what he was thinking.

"An' what you said before, about them bein' on the run… so their own people want 'em too?"

It was the most he'd said for almost twenty minutes. And, again, a trace of uncertainty had tinged his voice. Luckily, those twenty minutes had given Jon plenty of time to anticipate this question, and how to deal with the silent anxiety behind it.

"Yes, Trip, they do. From what Governor Sha'len told me, there's… well, several charges levied against them. And they've been on the run for quite some time, so... well, the Xyrillian Council are as determined to find them as we are."

Sipping his coffee, Trip just nodded. Took a deep breath. And faced another of those slowly surfacing fears.

"So if we _do_ catch 'em, there could be a trial. An' Starfleet's agreed to take it that far?"

He'd tried so bravely to talk his way past it, but Jon had still picked up on that single, giveaway word. It was understood, and then corrected, through a gentle smile, and a rallying squeeze on his shoulder.

"_When_ we catch them, Trip… yes, they'll stand trial. Not just by Governor Sha'len's orders, but Starfleet's too."

Staring back at the stars, Trip just nodded. Quietly watching him, Jon felt a surge of silent anger. No-one in the world deserved to go through this, and when he found the bastards who'd caused him such pain and torment – well, he couldn't make their Government any promises that there'd be much of them left to prosecute.

Some of that anger had clearly transferred from his hand to Trip's shoulder, since he now felt it flinch. Rubbing it gently away, Jon offered a smile of apology as he, too, lost himself in thought and space. Whether this reached a Xyrillian tribunal or not, he now realized, it didn't make any difference.

If, as Trip had said, he really wanted to put this behind him, then he still had so much of it to talk out. And facing that court, reliving his ordeal, would be that little bit easier if he could go through it beforehand, with someone he felt comfortable with. Someone he completely trusted.

Someone who still silently marvelled at his bravery. His strength. And his astonishing capacity to forgive that same 'someone' who still felt he didn't deserve it.

"Trip, we know now that you were drugged, so you couldn't resist, or fight back," he said at last, gently turning Trip around to face him, so that he could see the strength and support he was trying to give him. "Phlox found traces in your earlier scans, that we can still use as evidence. _If_ it gets that far."

Ah. That word again. So tiny and so mundane, but a word that now carried so much significance. Not so much for him, but the friend whose eyes already told him he knew what was coming next.

"But if you feel up to it, Trip… if you can remember _anything_, that you haven't told me already…"

"…eels…"

Jon stared at that. Well, yes – that qualified. Trip's report hadn't mentioned anything about alien fish. A little voice was telling him this was important, though, long before Trip continued to clue him in.

"There – There were these things, these big… well, _eels_, swimmin' in this huge tank of water."

Frowning at a maddening niggle in his mind, Trip then shook his head, running a hand across his eyes. That was all Jon needed to see, for his big brother instincts to bypass impulse, and go straight to warp.

"Trip, if it's too soon to do this, we can do it later… or another time, or…"

Such concern was a big brother's right, of course. Just as it was a little brother's to stubbornly ignore it. And Trip had that trait down to a fine art.

"No, it's – it's okay, Jon, I'm fine… just rememberin' more of it… somethin' that doesn't fit…"

Still frowning, Trip then looked up again, his eyes lighting up in relief that another piece of a maddening jigsaw had fallen into place.

"The - The cubes! The cubes she gave me, when I woke up. Yeah, that's it. She told me they were the closest thing they could get to synthesizin' water, and…"

That excited observation was left unfinished, though, as a more puzzling thought took its place.

"See, that's what I don't get here. I - I mean, I know those eel things coulda been swimmin' in somethin' else, but… all that technology, Jon… the holodeck, their cloakin' ability… yet they couldn't make _water_?"

Jon was frowning too now, at answers that, it thankfully seemed, Trip didn't yet share with him. They'd come eventually, of course. When he was ready to face them, he _would_ make the connection.

But, for now, Jon kept to his own, horrified thoughts of what Trip had just told him, and how it related to Trenal's outlawed 'research.'

If, as they'd claimed, they couldn't make one of life's most basic properties, then he had to wonder. _Had_ they been eels, swimming in that tank? Or, as his instincts were telling him, had they been something else? Something unthinkably else?


	15. Chapter 14 The Fightback Begins

A/N: With apologies for all of you who were creeped out by that last chapter (blame the evil bunnies!), here's where Trip's recovery turns a crucial corner.

Enjoy!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Fourteen - The Fightback Begins

As Jon had expected, it took just a few minutes for Trip to make the connection that his still traumatized memory had tried to suppress. More of its defences had fallen in its wake, as he tried to come to terms with what had happened to him. _Really_ happened. Not just flashbacks of things he'd struggled for so long to understand, but _all_ of it.

The more he remembered, the more colour had drained from his face. The more strength from his legs. And as soon as he'd become so tellingly quiet, Jon had steered him, very gently, back to his bed.

Calmly and quietly, he'd put another call in to the mess hall. Ten minutes later, a chirp at the door had announced the arrival of another tray of piping hot coffee, and a plateful of sandwiches. For everything that he knew Trip was about to face and re-live, he had to try and make him as comfortable as possible.

There was a vital difference, though, between how Trip had reacted before, and the way he was reacting now. Then, he'd withdrawn into near catatonia. Refused any kind of contact. Now, with Jon sitting alongside him, he openly welcomed it. Found strength in his presence.

For every memory that he was letting himself remember, there was a gentle squeeze on his shoulder. Quiet reassurance, as what he'd first seen as Ah'Len's kindness now revealed its true, horrific reality.

Not just those cubes that she'd fed to him, but everything else that had followed. Working on those coils again, but without that sickly vapour, and flashing lights, that had thrown his senses into such painful chaos.

Instead, he'd felt the complete opposite. So good, so - unnaturally _good_. Enjoying himself too much to wonder why that vapour, supposedly used to metabolise their food, had suddenly disappeared. Loving every moment of an assignment which, just twenty four hours earlier, he'd have almost sold his soul to have escaped.

Instead, he'd stayed. He'd been pulled, helpless and unresisting, into the full cruelty of her deception. The holodeck. Her innocent, innocuous 'game.' Spoken so quietly, his next words cracked with bitterness. The shame he'd tried so hard to overcome.

"She – She told me to trust her."

So full of his own emotions now, Jon tried to force them under a veneer of soothing, reassuring calm. He placed both his hands on Trip's shoulders, and turned him very gently around to face him. After making such brave and determined progress, he couldn't let any of it slip away from them now.

"And _she_ was the one, Trip, who abused that trust. She exploited it, and broke it, by lying to you."

Haunted blue eyes wanted so much to believe him. Silently asked him, implored him, to try again. To keep trying, until that crucial belief defeated the bitterness of his humiliation.

"You've got to remember that too, Trip. She lied to you. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she _lied_ to you. And you've got to remember this the most of all, Trip. You were lied to, and deceived, and you did _nothing_ wrong."

It seemed like hours, rather than seconds, for it to happen, but he finally saw a shaky nod of agreement. Trip's eyes had changed too, from bitter shame to the courage that would again help him to overcome it.

"You – You said I was drugged too. By - By that gas in that chamber."

Still savouring the sight of that vital determination, Jon felt his own make an equally welcome return. This was their friendship at its best. At its strongest. All the time he could keep Trip's faith and trust in him - no, nothing could break it. Nothing could break _them_.

"That's the most likely source, Trip, yes. Though that vapour you mentioned may have been too."

To his relief, the nod was stronger this time. The eyes clearer. The voice calm with its reasoning

"Yeah, that – that makes sense… I mean, workin' through it on those coils just felt so damn _weird. _An' - An' I couldn't figure out why it was there when I started workin' on those coils, but wasn't when - when I woke up."

Another thought made him frown now, as he brushed his fingers where she had touched him. Along his mouth, against his cheek, in seemingly innocent gestures of both comfort and curiosity. He'd been flattered then, of course. Flattered. Intrigued. Fascinated by this link between their minds.

But now that he knew the truth, for what that glow he'd seen and felt running up his arms signified – no. All that was gone. Instead, he just felt sick to the depths of his stomach, that he couldn't scrub its memory out of his mind.

There _was_ another way, though, to get himself rid of it, and all the anguished shame that had it had caused him. And for Jon, there was an unsettling sense of déjà vu when he then rose to his feet, and strode into his bathroom. Even more so when he followed him, and watched more piles of clothes fly into the bag at his feet.

This time, though, there was a hint of a smile on Trip's face. A familiar, resolute, determined smile.

"Stuff for the next time Malcolm needs somethin' to shoot at," he explained, nodding towards it. But as he revealed what this bundle of clothes represented, so this brave attempt at humour inevitably faltered.

"Everythin' I wore, Jon, when I was on that ship… when I had that - that thing, growin' inside me. I – I want it gone… everythin' that could _ever_ remind me."

To his surprise, Jon now found himself smiling, as he realized what this oddest of actions represented. Destroying everything that could remind him of this awful experience didn't seem like much. But whether he'd been aware of it or not, or even understood it, he'd just taken a massive leap forward.

This wasn't just part of his physical or mental recovery. No, he was now staging his own, personal fightback.

Jon knew it was still too soon, of course, to expect the rest of it to continue, and conclude, so quickly. He certainly wasn't ready yet, to face the moment that now quietly came through his comm unit.

"Reed to Captain Archer. Sir, we've got visual."

This was it. The moment they'd both waited for, with equal amounts of apprehension and eagerness. It was Trip, though, who quietly resolved Jon's familiar conflict of personal feelings and professional duty

"I'll – I'll be fine, Jon. It's okay, just… go do what you've gotta do. I'll be fine, just… just get them."

Doubting he'd ever be more proud of his friend as he was right now, Jon smiled back, and nodded – pulling him into a gentle hug, and making him the promise that would sustain it until he returned.

"Whatever it takes, Trip… yes, we _will_ get them."

He'd meant it, too. Every word. God, he couldn't wait himself now, to get onto the Bridge, and get his hands on the sick bastards who'd put Trip through this unthinkable ordeal. But those thoughts were tempered by the unease that he'd seen, silently written through Trip's eyes.

After what he'd just remembered, there was no way that he could leave him to face its aftermath alone. More than ever now, Trip needed the support of someone who he also trusted completely. And if he couldn't be there to do it himself - well, Jon knew Phlox would make the perfect substitute. It made it just a little bit easier to leave his closest friend in his CMO's uniquely supportive care. And, he thought, it would give Phlox a chance to assess Trip's recovery, without making it _too_ obvious.

When he stepped onto the Bridge, and took in the familiar scene around him, he felt even prouder. Everyone at their stations, ready to take each and every order that he gave them.

His eyes also fixed on the ship displayed ahead of them, Jon settled into his chair - giving them that first, longed for order through a buzz of satisfaction and anticipation.

"All right, people, good work. Now, let's go get 'em. Malcolm, go to Tactical Alert."


	16. Chapter 15 Hunter, Hunted

A/N: I must admit, I love watching 'Team Archer' go into action. Maybe that's why I enjoyed writing this chapter so much. I hope you enjoy it too!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Fifteen - Hunter, Hunted

Jonathan Archer liked to think that he was a man of peace. Compassion. Not one to look for a fight. Anyone who now looked into his eyes, though, would find it hard to see any of those attributes, or the friendly warmth that usually lay within them. Because those eyes were currently locked like lasers on the small alien ship that lay in full view ahead of him.

For a moment, they softened again, casting a glance of proud admiration towards his first officer. Even if her Vulcan heritage wouldn't let her return it, T'Pol deserved his appreciation, for the advantage she'd given him. Instead of skulking in their exhaust, as the cowards they were, their target was now fully exposed.

Unmistakeable.

Unmissable.

Now they'd be helpless, too. Just as Trip had been. And for everything they'd done to his closest friend, Jon was in no mood to show any kind of mercy. Again, his eyes hardened and narrowed. His voice, soft and deadly, swept towards his tactical officer.

"Target their engines, Malcolm. I want that ship dead in the water."

Never happier than when he had his weapons locked on a threatening target, Malcolm nodded. The fury in his eyes suggested he'd have been happier still if he'd been allowed to blow it out of that metaphorical water, let alone disable it. If not for the evidence they were determined to find inside it, he'd have done so. Instead, he just smiled, and obeyed his CO's orders.

"With pleasure, sir."

It took just ten seconds for three cannon bursts to find their targets, and achieve their objectives. And ten seconds after that for Hoshi Sato to glance first at her console, and then at her Captain.

"Sir, we have contact as planned. And we're being hailed. It's Trena'l."

There was almost a smile on that Captain's face now, as Jon stood and took point in front of his chair.

'_Showtime_.'

"Yes, I was rather hoping it would be. Okay, Hoshi, put him through. _With_ visual."

Ahead of him, the viewscreen flickered for a moment, then formed itself into a puzzled, angry face.

"Captain Archer? What's the meaning of this? Why this unprovoked attack upon us?"

His face was now the study of innocence. But Jon wasn't buying it for a second. Not now. Not ever. And, silently at least, the thought of being deceived again by this sick little snake made his blood boil.

'_Unprovoked_? _Yeah_, _just give me five seconds with you._ _I_'_ll_ _give_ _you__ unprovoked._'

"Oh, I think you know as well as I do that we have unfinished business here," he said instead, throwing that protest right back at the Xyrillian's face, and fervently hoping he'd choke on it too. "And we have every right, every reason we need to launch this… _attack._"

For several more moments, the façade stayed in place. Trena'l stared impassively back at him. Finally, under the full fury of Jon's eyes, and those of everyone else around him, he smiled.

Except it wasn't a smile. On a human face, just as it was on his, it was an arrogant, sneering leer.

"If these are your senior officers, Captain, then… well, I must say I'm surprised," he said at last, making a show of peering beyond Jon's shoulder, to the crew who sat in silent solidarity behind him. "During such a critical operation, I would have thought your chief engineer would be among them."

It took all Jon's strength and willpower not to react. Inwardly, though, it was a wholly different story.

'_Make that two seconds. A__nd the first thing I_'_ll_ _do is punch that damn smirk right out your ass!_'

"Well, that's because he's where I need him. Heading his teams in Engineering, and powering our systems. Including our weapons," he said at last, so grateful now for the poker face that had made him the most notorious cardshark in Starfleet. Knowing that Trip was safely out of this bastard's sights, still safely in his quarters - _God_, it felt good. Almost as good as revealing the slightest of smiles now, as that on the face in front of him betrayed its frustration.

Glancing towards T'Pol, then Hoshi, the nods he found there made this priceless moment just about perfect. With perfect timing, his ace had arrived. And he just couldn't wait to shake it out of his sleeve.

"Though to be honest, the firepower he _could_ give us won't really be necessary," he went on, keeping his tone light, and his eyes fixed on the screen ahead of him, for the _mother_ of surprises. "No, I think you'll find that'll come from the ship that's _just_ decloaking off your port bow."

'Ship' didn't really come close to describing the massive cruiser that now appeared beside them. Against the much smaller one that was suddenly dwarfed in front of it, a more apt term would be –

"Good God! I've seen smaller planets!"

– something more along the lines of what Malcolm Reed had just whispered, in awe, behind him.

In fact, they were all staring now, transfixed by the shaft of light that now snaked out from its centre. And for Jon, for all of them, there was the extra satisfaction of seeing the effect it had on Trena'l. The smirking grin was gone. Wiped out. Obliterated. In its place, an expression of complete disbelief. Utter dismay.

For him, at least, that shock grew deeper as his ship was pulled into the gaping maw above it. But as it disappeared from his view, Jonathan Archer allowed himself a wholly satisfied smile. An expression of relief, and grateful triumph, that he now saw on every other face around him.

It was a moment he yearned to savour, but… no. No, right now, there was another place he had to be. And he only had to glance around the faces around him to know that every one of his command team understood. Silent messages of support for their friend, their colleague, were written through every encouraging smile. And, from Malcolm, came the quiet hopes that all of them shared.

"Give him our best, sir. And tell him the Bridge is _much _too quiet without him."

Jon had to smile at that. If just to watch Trip and T-Pol engage in verbal combat - God, yes. He, too, had missed those often entertaining visits. It turned his smile into a broadening grin as he stepped into the lift. He'd known this all along, of course, but he'd never tire of thinking it. This was one _hell_ of a crew. One _hell_ of a family.

Phlox was part of that family too, of course. And, it seemed, as skilled a counsellor as he was a doctor. From whatever they'd been talking about, Trip's eyes were a reassuringly clear blue. He looked happier, more settled, and at ease with himself, than he had before. And while clearly grateful for what his CMO had done for him, Jon's attention was focussed, as it had to be, on Trip.

Returning Phlox's nod with a grateful smile, he placed both his hands on Trip's shoulders. Looked straight into those bright but suddenly anxious eyes - and gave him the news he knew he'd have prayed to hear.

"We've got them, Trip. We've got them."


	17. Chapter 16 Allies And Enemies

A/N: Oh, yes, I _thoroughly_ enjoyed writing that last chapter! And since I love Malcolm as much as Archer (just not so much as Trip!), I had the same pleasure in creating his Xyrillian counterpart. I hope you enjoy getting to know him too. And any similarities to a certain tactical officer are purely intentional ;o)

* * *

Violations

Chapter Sixteen - Allies And Enemies

Yes, they had them. _All_ of them. Trena'l. Ah'Len. His whole damn crew. All now safely in custody. And there was no doubt in Jon's mind now, that none of them had a hope in hell of getting away.

The Kerren's commanding officer had made that clear, as soon as Hoshi had transferred his call to the privacy of his ready room. As chief aide, and tactical officer, to Governor Sha'len, Major Tol'ren took his job seriously. More so, even, than Malcolm.

The more he studied him, though, the more Jon understood the cause for that oddly familiar sense of no nonsense directness. Not just anger against the fugitives he'd been pursuing for so long, but guilt for their actions too. If this had been Malcolm in the same position, having to face the victims of those they'd terrorised – yes, Jon had no doubt that _his_ head of security would have felt the same degree of embarrassment.

"On behalf of my Government, Captain, we owe you our thanks, _and_ our apologies," he said at last, adding to the one that Sha'len had already given him, Jon noted, with the same sincerity. "We have been pursuing Trena'l for some time, but he has always managed to evade capture."

Despite his anger at what Trip had gone through at the Xyrillian's hands, Jon still managed to smile. There was a world of difference between Trena'l and the security officer who'd taken him into custody. It made speaking with him, and forging this vital relationship of co-operation, just so much easier.

"I can understand that. By using that cloak on us, we found out ourselves how resourceful he is."

'…_not to mention a sick son of a bitch_, _who_'_s_ _put one of my crew_… _my friend_…_ through total hell._'

For the sake of their new alliance, Jon kept those thoughts behind a mantle of polite understanding. With Trena'l now safely out of harm's way, he could relax a little, and also satisfy his curiosity – noting with wry gratitude that Major Tol'ren had almost anticipated his still carefully tactful questions.

"Governor Sha'len told me that before he became a fugitive, he was a genuinely renowned scientist?"

"Yes, Captain, that's correct. He and Ah'Len headed the original project for our survival program."

Jon knew his reaction must have betrayed him now, since the face in front of him grew awkward again. As he'd expected, from speaking to Sha'len earlier, his aide's voice also betrayed the same, helpless sadness.

"I'm afraid our world has been left uninhabitable, Captain, by a sequence of natural disasters. The greatest hazard, regrettably, of our planet's location. Radiation has stripped away the protection of our atmosphere, leaving our population exposed to its worst effects."

With what he already knew, and from what Trip had been put through, Jon simply nodded this time – putting the pieces together for himself, while Tol'ren completed the full, tragic picture.

"We've managed to re-locate most of our people to other planets, but… I'm afraid for some of them, it will be too late."

Again, Jon nodded, in sympathy for the Xyrillians' plight, and their Government's desperate fight to save them. Relocating their entire population to other planets would take time, that many of them didn't have. That explained the massive ship, which had left its latest run to help them take Trena'l into custody.

But as its commander now sadly told him, its size couldn't change the awful need for its purpose.

"In many ways, Captain, we have superior technology, just as advanced as yours. But in others, we are still so very fragile."

"With some exceptions, I don't know many civilizations who aren't," Jon agreed just as softly, pulling himself out of these sober thoughts so that he could listen properly to what Tol'ren said next.

"Thank you, Captain. Your empathy for our situation is much appreciated, especially with the situation you and your crew have been put through at Trena'l's hands. There can be no excuse for his actions. Using the program intended to ensure the survival of his own people, for his own, self serving purposes… well, Captain, I share your anger towards him. Such actions are reprehensible, and beyond forgiveness."

From Jon's quiet nod of agreement, the anger on the Xyrillian's face turned back into awkwardness. His voice into a further, quiet apology

"I am just sorry that your Commander Tucker was among his victims. I hope he will recover, and… well, that he won't see us as I know he will see Trena'l and his crew. We are a peaceful people, Captain. I can only hope that, in time, Commander Tucker will regain enough trust in us to believe that."

Another sincere apology - answered with an equally grateful smile.

"He'll be fine… and he knows Trena'l was acting against your Council's orders," Jon assured him, driven by more than curiosity to make the request that a still vulnerable friend couldn't make himself. "All I _would_ ask is that whatever punishment your tribunal imposes on them _will_ fit their crime."

For the first time since they'd made contact, the Xyrillian mustered up a brief but satisfied smile. His demeanor, and quiet, measured responses reminded Jon so much now of a certain tactical officer. It was, he mused through a grateful smile, an increasingly reassuring thought - especially when he saw, and heard, the resolve in the Major's eyes.

"You can depend on that, Captain. For _all_ the crimes they've committed, they _will_ be punished. As I said before, we are a peaceful people. But there are those, such as Trena'l, who abuse our laws and customs. Our penal colony on Hellia has been specifically built for such… purposes."

Again, Jon felt a rush of approval, and relief, run through him. Not just at what Tol'ren had said, but the way he'd said it. If Trena'l and his crew were expecting an easy ride, or any kind of pardon for what they'd done - well, they were clearly in for one hell of a shock. It made the Major's next words even sweeter.

"I assume that, at some point, you will wish to speak to the prisoners?"

Inwardly, at least, Jon had to smile as he considered his two instinctive responses to Tol'ren's offer. Talk to Trena'l? Yes, he was strangely looking forward to that. Finding the slightest reason to shove his fist down his throat? Yes, he was d_efinitely _looking forward to that_._

"For Commander Tucker's sake, and mine… yes, Major. I'd appreciate that," he said at last, still smiling to cover up the delay in answering the Major's question. "But first, I would appreciate it if I can bring my team on board, to examine their ship. For my report to Starfleet, and… well, for whatever action you take yourselves, I'd like to collect as much evidence for what happened to Commander Tucker as possible."

With uncanny speed, Tol'ren was already nodding, in anticipation for what he'd asked. _'More and more like Malcolm'_ Jon thought, through a broadening smile.

"Yes, of course, Captain. If you wish to come now, I will ensure that all of your requirements are met."

Breaking the connection, Jon sat for several moments, in more serious thoughts toward his tactical officer. He'd need Malcolm's help, for sure, to find that crucial evidence. He was equally sure, too, that his security chief was just itching for some payback against Trena'l himself. And the sooner they did this, the sooner he could get back to Trip, and devote his time and support to the person who _really_ deserved it.

Rising to his feet, he left his ready room, and strode the short distance to the Bridge. Just as he'd expected, Malcolm was at his station, meeting his eyes with a quizzically hopeful glance. A smile, and nod, was all he needed to get to his feet, patching a call through to his team, while Jon cast his approving smile to Hoshi.

"Hoshi, please contact Major Tol'ren again. Tell him we're on our way."

Watching her place the call back to the Kerren, Jon returned each one of the encouraging glances that followed him and Malcolm into the lift with his best attempt at a smile. The expression on Malcolm's face told him why those glances had been needed. God knew what they were about to face. About to find. But all of them knew what it had led to. And all of them knew that it wouldn't be good.


	18. Chapter 17 The Weight Of The World

A/N: Apologies, first of all, if you're expecting the big showdown between Jon and Trena'l in this chapter. That's coming in the next instalment! Instead, I'm bringing my angst and evil bunnies back out to play.

Enjoy!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Seventeen - The Weight Of The World

Just as he'd done when this nightmare had started, Jonathan Archer sat at the desk in his quarters. Absently rubbing Porthos' ears, while he reflected on that morning's harrowing events. What he'd seen on Trena'l's now safely secured ship had brought it all back. Every awful moment.

"Dear God, Trip… what those bastards put you through."

Everything they'd done to his closest friend had come crashing back through his conscience – so unforgivingly hard that, when he'd returned to Enterprise, he'd left Phlox and Malcolm in his wake. Yes, he knew they were as shocked, and horrified, as he was, but _his_ rage had run far deeper. So had his guilt.

It had made it impossible for him to face them. And he sure as hell couldn't face Trip. Not yet.

Instead, he rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes, mulling over what he'd seen on that ship. Or, more specifically, the _first_ thing he'd seen. What he'd give _anything_ now, to scrub out of his mind. The chamber, that he'd been told, that he'd so foolishly _believed_, had been purely for 'decompression.'

Like hell. In silent horror, he'd realized that as soon as they'd docked with the Xyrillian cruiser. Puzzled by his request for acclimatization, its commanding officer had assured him it wasn't necessary.

'_We_'_ve_ _already_ _adjusted our environment for you_, _Captain. Y__ou can board whenever you_'_re_ _ready._'

After the formalities of meeting their new allies, the inevitable exchange of questions and answers, the sinking feeling that Jon had felt from that first realization had crashed right through his boots. It hadn't been three hours of decompression. It had been three hours of physical and mental torture.

Three hours. One hundred and eighty agonizing, terrifying minutes.

Every one of their victims had suffered its terrors. And one of those victims had included his closest friend.

"…Christ, Trip… why the hell didn't I stop it?"

And when he'd finally seen it, that damn chamber, and thought of him, trapped helplessly inside it –

"God, if – if I'd just got you out of there… if only I'd sent Travis right around, and just… just got you back."

– no, just as he did now, Jon had closed his eyes, and fought down the rising tide of bile in his throat.

_If only_.

He could wonder those two little words for the rest of his life, but it wouldn't change anything. He couldn't turn back time. Could do nothing, now, to protect Trip from what those bastards had done to him.

Picking up on his mood, Porthos whined a little, scrabbling up his chest to offer him his own comfort. Licking his face, and snuffling his nose along the crook of his neck until, reluctantly, he started to smile.

"Yeah, you're just so good at that, aren't you? It's okay, boy, I've - I've just had one hell of a day."

Inevitably, though, thoughts of the other person who never failed to cheer him up brought this moment to a sobering close. Again, Jon closed his eyes. Breathed deeply. Tried to bite back his guilt.

"God, Trip… if I'd just got you out of there, when I had the chance."

Rising from his chair, he then lay back across his bed, so he could continue to think in greater comfort. Before he could settle, though, before Porthos even made it onto his stomach, he got to his feet again – furious that he'd even considered giving himself the comfort that Trip had been so cruelly denied inside that - that _thing_.

A true chamber of horrors. And Trip had been imprisoned inside it for three tortuous, torturing hours. Forced to submit to the drugs that had stripped away all hopes of resistance against his captors.

In the bitterest hindsight, he'd sent Malcolm and Phlox inside it with every possible precaution. Dressed in their EVA suits, they'd swarmed over it, running their scanners over it, inside and out. Their expressions alone had told Jon what he already knew, long before Phlox had turned to face him.

"_Synol_, _Captain_… _in quantities and concentrations that_… _well_, _would have been impossible to resist._"

He'd tactfully avoided using Trip's name to make his point, but his eyes had done that instead. The only comfort that he, or Malcolm, or Jon himself, had drawn from it had been the case in his hand. Filled with samples, it housed all the evidence they'd missed before, but, thank God, safely had now.

Not just from that damn chamber, either, but all the other places that Malcolm really _had_ taken apart. The coils they'd asked Trip to repair. That Malcolm had bitterly reported had shown no signs of damage. What they had contained instead, that had left Trip's already weakened body and mind completely defenceless.

"…_Synol here too_, _sir_… _and a light display_ _that __could__ have imposed hypnotic suggestion_…"

Closing his eyes again, Jon rubbed his fingers against this memory, and a now worsening headache. In other words, brainwashing. The perfect way for Trip's captors to learn all they wanted to know. After raiding his mind, they'd have been free to invade it with their own suggestions.

_Rest_. _Sleep_.

Demands.

_Submit_.

Untraceable triggers. Questions, and insidiously programmed responses. His favourite food. _Her_ favourite food. Events from his lifetime. Flattering, mutual attraction.

Seeds planted into a helplessly captive mind. That he should rest. Sleep.

_Submit_.

All of which brought Jon's thoughts back now, to… them.

_It_.

The most horrifying sight, and realization, of all.

Just as Trip had described them, he'd seen dozens of them, swimming through their separate tanks. As he'd stood watching them, as fascinated as he'd been disturbed, curiosity had turned to horror. He'd staggered backwards, physically and mentally reeling. Because one that had pressed its face against the screens between them, the only one amongst all the others, had had blue eyes.

_Perfect_ blue eyes.

Phlox, too, had been utterly horrified. Standing beside his white-faced Captain, everything he'd believed, and told his mortified patient had come crashing down around him.

_'The Xyrillians only utilize the genetic material of the mother. The males simply serve as hosts_.'

Seeing that curious, inquisitive face had proven him sickeningly wrong. Brought fresh horror to what Trip had been through. To create those uniquely coloured eyes, his DNA _must_ have been taken. Instead of serving as an unsuspecting host, he'd been the equally unsuspecting donor. And God alone knew what part of him they'd taken.

There was no way to tell now, how that DNA had been extracted. That was a question that could only be asked, and theoretically answered, through the privacy of their imaginations.

Surfacing out of those same, sickening thoughts, Jon felt a fresh tide of anger and disgust surge through him. This time, though, he managed to turn it to his advantage. Most of it vented through his comm link. The rest escaped through the call that it delivered to his tactical officer.

"Malcolm? How'd you like to go back to that ship, and join me in kicking that bastard's ass?"


	19. Chapter 18 Said The Spider To The Fly

A/N: Okay, folks, here it is! The showdown between Jon and Trena'l, with Malcolm there as well, to give his Captain some much needed moral support. Jon is certainly going to need it!

Enjoy!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Eighteen - Said The Spider To The Fly

Malcolm had been right. The Xyrillian cruiser that had docked with them _was_ the size of a planet. To his approval, and Jon's, she was a pretty impressive fortress too. Made Alcatraz look like a 1960's holiday camp. Her brig alone, hastily improvised out of one of her storage decks, was the size of Engineering. Both decks combined. And, probably, Trip's quarters too.

Inevitably from that last thought, Jon's smile faded now, as he stared down the corridor ahead of them. For much the same reason, Malcolm's did the same. In silent understanding, they traded glances. They were here because of Trip. Because of what at least one person in these cells had done to him.

Trena'l. Ah'Len. The rest of his crew. For everyone involved in their capture, for Jon, Malcolm, and for Trip the most of all, it had been a massive relief. Against the extent of learning how completely they'd deceived him, though, Jon couldn't enjoy it. He _wouldn't_ enjoy it, until he could look Trip in the eye, and tell him it was finally over. And that moment, he knew, was still a long way off yet.

More immediately, he and Malcolm had to face that ordeal's leading perpetrator. United by anger, disgust, and the simple need for retribution, they'd come here to face him. To try and avenge the friend who'd suffered such anguish and torment at his hands.

Not surprisingly, Jon knew the tension he could see on his tactical officer's face was mirrored, even more times over, across his own. It was as his friend, though, rather than his commanding officer, that he now tried to relieve it.

"Remember, Malcolm, that whatever he says, or does, Trip's safe. He's safe, they _can_'_t_ hurt him."

Releasing a breath he hadn't even known he was holding, Malcolm took another, then finally nodded – staying shoulder to shoulder with his Captain as Jon took those last few steps to the cell at the end of the block. It housed just one prisoner. The one they'd come specifically to see. And, if their Xyrillian escorts gave them any chance at all, the one who they'd freely smear around its walls.

Despite his capture and imprisonment, Trena'l greeted Jon with the same, leeringly arrogant smile. And, again, Jon had to fight the urge to disable those forcefields between them, and punch it right back through his ass.

"So, Captain Archer… and Lieutenant Reed too, I believe! We meet again," he said at last, the shock he'd shown at his capture gone now, as he made another show of staring hopefully past them. "But, again, no Commander Tucker? I must say, Captain, you've again disappointed me."

God alone knew how he managed it, but Jon, again, refused to rise to this sickening, mocking bait. Instead, making sure this smug SOB couldn't see it, he placed a calming hand on Malcolm's back – recalling his own advice, and forcing himself to take it, as he glared straight into the Xyrillian's eyes.

"Well, I'll make sure to pass that on. I'm sure he'll be as crushed as I am."

As it had done before, the sneer faded a little. Not as much as Jon had wanted, but… no. It would do. Before he could take further advantage of it, though, Trena'l saw his chance instead, and seized it.

"No matter. The opinions of our _subjects_ have never held any importance."

Between horror, rage, and pure revulsion, Jon struggled through all three of them to find a response. He was still trying to do so when, despite all his attempts at restraint, Malcolm furiously did it for him.

"Commander Tucker is _not_ a subject! He's a human being. One of the bravest people I've ever met, whose courage puts _you_ to shame!"

Realizing he'd given Trena'l exactly what he'd wanted, he then stepped back, forcing himself back into control – the fury on his face speaking volumes for him instead, as he allowed his CO to take on the attack.

To his astonishment, that attack started with calm, quiet regret for what had befallen the real victims of Trena'l and his 'research.' His own people.

"I'm sorry for what's happened to your world. To all the people who have suffered, because of it."

That's as far as it went. Heartfelt sympathy, for Xyrillia's real and innocent victims. But not for him. Not for one of their own, who'd turned all their hopes into the worst imaginable nightmares.

And he really wasn't surprised at all, just sickened, by Trena'l's indifference. His complete lack of remorse for what he'd done, to his own people. To all those others. To the Denizian trader, who'd died in agonizing, unnaturally enforced childbirth.

To Trip who, thank God, had managed to survive.

That last thought alone swept all possibility of empathy out of Jon's head. His voice, when he finally spoke again, was born out of pure contempt.

"But what you did to Commander Tucker, to all those others, in the name of once justified research, is beyond excuse. _Any_ excuse."

Still nothing. No reaction, except for that smug, mocking leer. But Jon refused to back down. For Malcolm, for himself, for all those victims and, most of all, for Trip, he wasn't going to let this smirking bastard win. If anything, that thought gave him all the more incentive to fight even harder, for the answers that his outraged humanity still demanded.

"What I can't understand is why. With your people being relocated, why you'd… _do_ this."

There'd been the tiniest pause through that final part. Again, Trena'l made the gloating most of it. And, to Malcolm's barely restrained disgust, his own words were now hurled mockingly back against him.

"Because we _can_, Captain Archer. Because we have the ability, and the… _courage _of our convictions, to do so."

Glancing beyond them, to the Xyrillian guards who'd been assigned to protect them, Trena'l then smiled. A cold, humourless smile, that perfectly matched the contempt in his voice.

"They still have their blind, ignorant followers, but the leaders on our world are weak. Cowards. They refuse to see the importance of our… _research._"

God, if he heard that damn word one more time, Jon was going to ram it right back down his throat. Instead, channelling that anger through his voice and his eyes, he threw another word back through those barriers. A word that summed this SOB to a perfect T.

"I define 'coward' as those who stalk their victims, without having the guts to show their faces. I define 'coward' as those who resort to drugs… physical and mental control… to make them submit. I define 'coward' as those who need to rely on that enforcement to subdue people who, given the chance, would resist and fight back, with everything they have."

A pause then, just to let all that sink in. As he'd expected, Trena'l remained completely unmoved. Still, Jon wasn't done yet. Hell, he wasn't even halfway close.

"I'm sure the victims you terrorised on your own world will define you the same way. See you, and the rest of your crew, as the cowards you truly are. For all the crimes you've committed against them, you'll never see daylight again. And by your homeworld's orders, and Starfleet's, your _research_, as you call it, is terminated."

To his surprise, and Malcolm's, just one word in that last, furiously delivered sentence got a reaction.

"This is no business of Starfleet!"

Like hell it wasn't. And Jon wasted neither time nor mercy in making that point brutally clear.

"You subjected one of its officers to an assault that _we_ see as rape. That _makes_ it our business."

After everything he'd said, that was it. This was the moment that finally made the Xyrillian snap. Lunging towards the bars that separated them, he then staggered. Cried out, and fell back again, before he could get anywhere near them.

At first, Jon thought it was the effect of the forcefield. But then he and Malcolm stared, with a strange lack of sympathy, as Trena'l jerked again, then fell to his knees. Both of them had wondered what that small disc in the centre of his throat was for. Well, now they knew.

He wasn't surprised either, to see that Malcolm smiling too. Ever so slightly, with the same satisfaction. Neither of them believed in the use of pain as a means of punishment, but when they thought about Trip, and what he'd been put through – well, if such painful restraint meant bringing this bastard into line, and keeping him there, they'd make an exception.

Finally making it back to his feet, Trena'l glared back at him. For several moments, their eyes locked. For the life of him, Jon couldn't understand why he was smiling. But then, with breathtaking arrogance, he was _made_ to understand.

"As I said, Captain… the opinions of _our_ subjects, including you and the hapless Lieutenant Reed, mean nothing to us. Absolutely _nothing._"

Just as Malcolm had done, just moments earlier, Jon was left lost for words. Unable to believe what had just happened. One minute. he'd had his opponent on the ropes, yet _he_ was the one who'd just been slammed into the canvas, with nothing left to offer.

Game over. And the bastard had won.

The only comfort he could give himself, and Malcolm too, as they walked away, felt unjustly hollow. At least it had been them this time, not Trip, who'd fallen victim to his smug, sickening arrogance. He was still back on Enterprise, safely out of this sick bastard's reach. And, Jon vowed, he'd make sure he stayed that way.


	20. Chapter 19 Damage Control

A/N: I know I've written Trena'l into a real monster, but there was reason to my madness. Starting with this chapter, I'm going to just _love_ taking him down!

Enjoy!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Nineteen - Damage Control

For thirty clear seconds, Jonathan Archer was sure he'd misheard what Trip had just said to him. No, he'd imagined it. Overdone the coffee. Eaten some dodgy cheese. Or, as his friend never tired of reminding him, those '…_advancin_' _years_…' really _were_ starting to tell.

Any, or all, of these had to explain it. Because there was no way, in hell, that he could have possibly heard the completely impossible.

_'Jon, I - I want to see him_.'

That thought died its death, though, as Jon found the truth of reality, still there in Trip's eyes. They were unbelievably calm, and bullishly determined. More determined, Jon realized, than he'd ever seen them before.

Dear God, he was serious. And through that moment of realization, Jon finally managed to find his voice.

"No, Trip. No, absolutely not. There's _no way_ I can let you do this."

From the way Trip's eyes changed, Jon knew this wasn't the reaction his friend had been expecting. Surprise, dismay, maybe a dash of hurt too, had caused them to widen. Now they narrowed. Darkened by the tiniest shade, and… oh, yeah. He knew what _that_ meant.

Through eight years of friendship, he could count the serious arguments they'd had on one hand. He was going to have to move quickly now, to avoid this one requiring the use of the other.

"I'm sorry, Trip, but no. You've been through hell already. And you're _still_ recovering from it."

Not much of an olive branch, he had to admit. But, to his relief, Trip still seemed willing to accept it. As the tension left his face, so his eyes lightened back to their usual, cool clear blue. He even managed a slight, if rueful smile. A concession of gratitude for his friend's natural concern.

"Yeah, Jon, I – I know that. An' I know you're just tryin' to protect me, as you always do, but…"

Leaving that thought unfinished, Trip then frowned and sighed, running his hand through his hair. It left the blond mop more tousled than ever. Showed its need to trim it back to 'regulations length.'

But, Jon thought dryly, he'd keep quiet about that. That wasn't his main concern right now. Instead, he focussed, with real pride and admiration on the rest of Trip's calm, if still hesitant reply.

"I wish I could explain it better, Jon… or understand it myself, but… Jon, I – I _have_ to do this! Please, you've - you've _got_ to let me do this."

With the benefit of calmer thinking himself, Jon was also starting to understand his reasoning. And as Trip himself now reminded him, there were more reasons too, for why he had to face the Xyrillian scientist who'd put him through this awful ordeal.

"I – I know what Major Tol'ren told you. Why there won't be a trial for this," he said at last, giving himself a moment to remember the first victims of Trena'l's research, and grieve for their loss. Even with the support of Jon's hand on his shoulder, he needed several more before he could continue.

"For everythin' they did to their own people, with all that against 'em, they'll be convicted, just for that. So I won't need to tell their Council what they… what they did to me."

Now in full, big brother mode, Jon just nodded – letting the gratitude on his face speak for them both. Knowing that Trip would be spared the ordeal of going through all this again had been a massive relief for him. And, of course, even more so for Trip. From that, he'd assumed his friend would be even more grateful, to just put this all behind him, and move on, but – well, as he should maybe have realized, long before now, his chief engineer was just full of surprises.

Still quietly, he revealed another of them now. One that, Jon had to admit, he hadn't even considered.

"But what happens when we get a _real_ distress call? When lives are at stake, and someone really _does_ need my help? I - I mean, what am I meant to do, Jon? Tell 'em I'm sorry, an' just leave 'em to it?"

The pride he already felt grew even deeper now, as Jon measured Trip's words against his character. Yes, _this_ was the Trip Tucker he knew so well. The one that, just days ago, he feared he'd lost forever. Never one to ignore those in trouble. Never one to pass by, and leave it to someone else to help instead.

And, more than that, never one to back down from a fight - especially from one that had hurt him as deeply as this.

Beyond all doubt now, this was _his_ Trip. He heard it, too, through every word that he said next.

"If I walk away from this, Jon, it'll mean he's won. It'll mean he's beaten me, an'... Jon, I just _can_'_t_ let him do that."

Again, Jon was left lost for words as he studied his friend. Saw the determination beyond the silent plea in Trip's eyes. He'd made a remarkable recovery from his ordeal, and he could see it too now. Trip was right. That recovery couldn't be fully complete until he faced, and defeated, the very worst of its demons.

With or without that famous Southern stubbornness, Jon knew this an argument he just wasn't going to win. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that part of him, _most_ of him, didn't even want to.

If facing Trena'l could bring Trip the closure he needed to put this nightmare behind him, then - yes. Yes, he had to do this. But he'd do it on his friend's, his Captain's, his protector's terms.

"All right, Trip. If you're sure, then… yes, we'll do this. But on two, non negotiable conditions."

Just as he'd done earlier, it was now Trip's turn to recognize the tone of Jon's voice, and give it the respect it deserved. He was already nodding agreement to the first provision which, in truth, he'd already known was coming.

"If he tries _any_ of those mind games he used on me and Malcolm, I get you the hell out of there…"

"…'fore you an' Malcolm paste his sorry ass all over the nearest wall," Trip finished for him, knowing from the way Jon smiled back at him that his other leap of intuition had, again, been right on the money.

"You'd better believe it. And one more thing, Trip. All the time we're in that cruiser, or Trenal's ship, or in that cell block, we don't let you out of our sight."

That was another given too, of course, that he'd already anticipated. And, again, he accepted it with that familiar determination. Jon, though, was still naturally worried about what he was about to face.

Trip had, of course, thought of that too. Five minutes later, and with his Captain's proudest blessing, he patched a call through his comm link, and set that plan into motion.

"Hey, T'Pol? That, uh, offer you made me last night? About meditatin' ? Keepin' control of my mind, an' all that? Well, I'd like to take you up on it."


	21. Chapter 20 The Calm Before The Storm

A/N: This is an extra chapter, that I hadn't planned on writing. I was originally just going to have Trip go straight into his showdown with Trena'l. But then this idea popped into my head, and my plot bunnies did the rest.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Twenty - The Calm Before The Storm

Not for the first time since they'd boarded the Kerren, and not the last, Trip glanced across to his side. The left, first of all, where Jon offered him a tense smile, that quickly turned to one of encouragement. Then to his right, where Malcolm Reed had taken the same position of silent, supportive protection. Both of them were close enough that it felt as if they were physically welded to him, and… _damn_! When Jon had told him they wouldn't let him out of their sight, he hadn't been kidding.

_'Much closer, an' they'll be sharin' my boots!'_

At any other time, he'd have dryly told them that he was way too big, _and_ old, for such 'babysittin'. But for what he was about to face inside this ship… no. He silently welcomed the contact. The comfort. Just to know they were there, determined to do everything they could to protect him. And wasn't it just typical, that Jon had done all _he_ could, to make it as easy for him as possible?

Before facing Trena'l, he'd see the _true_ face of the Xyrillian people. The gentlest restoration of his faith in the new civilizations he'd come out here to meet. The trust he would need, to recognize the good from the bad.

Knowing how hard it would be for him, Jon had arranged this 'paving the way' meeting. The simplest, the gentlest, way for it to happen. Greeting them at the airlock, Major Tol'ren still looked as apprehensive, as nervous, as Trip felt himself.

Right on cue, the hand on his shoulder tightened. An equally gentle voice soothed away the silent tremor of memory.

"Trip, this is Major Tol'ren. He's the chief aide to Governor Sha'len."

Even with this encouragement, Trip still spent several seconds staring at the hand in front of him. Fighting back everything that his memories would always associate with Xyrillian physiology. How other hands just like this one had touched him. Flattered him.

Violated him. Stolen a part of him that he could never, ever, get back.

It took another, firmer squeeze on his shoulder, to bring him out of it, and back to current reality. A third to gently persuade him, if still hesitantly, to accept that hand into an equally awkward shake. And several more moments after that, for his voice to finally raise itself to a soft, almost shy whisper.

"Um… h-hey…"

Hardly the most eloquent speech he'd ever make for first contact, or second, but it would have to do. Judging by the smile on Jon's face, though, he'd done just fine. It made it a little easier for him to do the same. Give him the strength he needed to offer his still awkwardly watching host a fairer degree of empathy.

"The… uh… Cap'n here told me what's happenin' to your planet. Your people. I'm – I'm sorry."

It was a crucial moment, for all of them. And it was reciprocated with the same, grateful sincerity.

"Thank you, Commander, but I owe _you_ the greater apology, for everything that happened to you."

Reminded, again, of everything he'd been through, Trip nodded, but couldn't manage more than that. Instead, he glanced around at the welcome distraction of the sheer size, and levels of technology, around him.

"An' this is… uh… some ship you got here. I – I mean, she's just… _huge._"

Again, just a little too late, he realized this wasn't exactly what the Xyrillian would want to hear.

_'Oh, way to go, Tucker. Yeah, compliment the guy on a ship he's havin' to use to save his people.'_

Within another awkward silence, he again found himself humbled, and reassured, by a touchingly humane smile.

"Yes, Commander. She is, as you say… huge. And also our best hope for survival and salvation."

With that 'uh-oh' moment neatly resolved, Tol'ren then paused, glancing at Jon for silent guidance. Yes, this meeting was going surprisingly well, but both thought it was still too soon for its real purpose.

"An' he's… I – I mean, he's done this to them too? Your own people?"

For Jon, at least, this quiet question brought out a smile of both wry pride, and protective concern. He just had to look into Trip's eyes, see the simmering fury within them, to know where that anger was heading.

At the disadvantage of not knowing him, or to understand that deadly soft voice, Tol'ren again glanced at Jon for his guidance, found it in a reassuring smile, then nodded.

Before he could say anything in reply, though, Trip's still warningly quiet voice beat him to it.

"An' his ship's still here?"

Answered in turn by another proud smile, another puzzled nod, Trip took a deep, steadying breath – his next words directed towards the friend, the Captain, who knew it would be pointless to try and argue.

"I'd – I'd like to see that too, Jon. 'fore we go to see… _him._"

Rarely, if ever, had so much anger, so much fury, so much contempt, squeezed itself into a single word. For Jon and Malcolm, of course, it was the clearest sign yet, that Trip was starting to prepare himself. Building up the physical and mental defences he'd need, to face the demons that still awaited him.

As they headed towards the first of them, Malcolm remembered the old adage of three being a crowd. Besides, the expression on Trip's face made the same point, amusingly clearly.

_'Damn, Malcolm, I'm tryin' to breathe here!'_

Smiling too, if just a little less freely, he fell back a little, letting his Captain take the lead, while he and Tol'ren followed watchfully behind. The distance also allowed the Xyrillian to make an admiring observation to his human counterpart.

"Your Commander Tucker has great courage, Lieutenant. And I believe he is now quite… _angry?_"

To his surprise, a wry smile answered him. A uniquely accented voice left him even more intrigued.

"Believe me, Major… you're about to see that word taken to a whole new level."


	22. Chapter 21 The Power Of Three

A/N: Well, folks, this is the penultimate chapter. It also replaces chapter twelve as the longest one so far! An awful lot happens within it, too, so get yourselves comfy - and hold onto your hats, because it's going to be one _hell_ of a ride!

Enjoy!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Twenty One - The Power Of Three

Dwarfed by the massive hangar that now housed it, the ship had looked smaller than Trip remembered. Stripped of its power, its technology, and its crew, it seemed almost… harmless.

Those thoughts brought him a curious sense of comfort now, as the hand on his shoulder gently guided him to where he'd asked Jon to take him. For all the memories that were now rushing back into his mind… God, yes. _God_, _yes_, he needed it.

Because there it was. The tiny, hellish chamber that had led him into this unthinkable ordeal.

Swallowing hard, Trip wondered, just for a moment, if he shouldn't have taken Jon's advice.

'_Maybe it would be better_, _Trip_, _not to go there first_… _if we_… _well_,_ see other parts of it instead_…'

He'd smiled then. Dryly related the time when he'd fallen off his bike, and scraped off half his knee. How his mother had smiled at him. Cuddled and comforted him. Then doused it in a flood of iodine.

'…damn _near sent me through the ceilin_'… _but it taught me how to deal with pain_… _no pussyfootin' around_, just _hard_, _fast_, _an_' _head on. An' the quicker you do it, the quicker you start healin'_…'

He wasn't experiencing that childhood mishap now, of course. And he sure as hell wasn't smiling. Remembering what had been done to him _here_, twenty years later – God, it had been infinitely worse than scraping his knee. It was taking every bit of his courage not to turn around, and hightail it back to Enterprise.

Jon's presence had been - still was - an immeasurable comfort. But still not as much as the voice inside his mind. A voice that brought the threat of tears to his eyes, and the courage which soothed them away, before they started to fall.

"_I know_, _baby-boy_… _I know_… _but hush your cryin_' _now_, _Trip_… _it only hurts for a second_…"

In truth, it had hurt like hell for minutes more than seconds, but the thought still made him smile, again, at the memory. He had his mother inside his head, and Jon's solid strength beside him. Helping him to fight the terror that was still threatening to overwhelm him. Safely held in their respective comfort, he could feel his fear, his terror, starting to ease its grip.

With Jon still seemingly glued to his side, Trip stepped through its door, into the chamber itself. There, he paused for a moment, running his fingers over its walls, as if to prove to himself that it really, _really_, couldn't hurt him.

Still watching him, Jon then glanced back, meeting another pair of worried eyes with a proud smile.

'_He_'_s okay_, _Malcolm_… _he_'_s okay_, _he_'_s_ _just fine_…'

Satisfied by that assurance, at least for now, Malcolm nodded, his eyes still focussed squarely on Trip. Yes, he _was_ fine. Facing his memories every bit as bravely as both he, and his Captain, had expected. But a far greater demon – and, by God, that was the perfect word to describe him – still lay ahead.

Even if he couldn't admit it, his own encounter with Trena'l had left him sickened. Disgusted. Ashamed that he'd let the sick bastard into his mind, and allowed him to strip out its defences.

So when Trip finally emerged from that chamber, Malcolm fell instantly back into place at his side. Took that wry, martyred smile on his face as the greatest compliment, but still refused to budge. Hell, not even one of his own torpedoes could have made him move away from where he had to be.

Just to make this show of solidarity complete, Tol'ren had also re-taken his place behind them. From his own sense of duty, feeling a natural connection to these three humans, he stayed there. Quietly observing them, until their journey finally brought one of them to where he had to be.

Again, Trip felt a rush of emotions surge through him. Again, he felt Jon's hand tighten on his shoulder. On his other side, Malcolm's hand did the same. Two quiet voices gave him the strength to face and defeat them.

"We're right with you, Commander... Trip. The power of three, remember?"

"That's right. And remember what _I_ said, Trip. If he tries anything on you, if he even _looks_ at you the wrong way, I'm getting you out of there. Okay?"

If still nervously, Trip nodded. Somehow managed to smile back at them. Then, as one, they were moving again. Guiding him along the long passageway ahead of them, until they reached its far end. Then they stopped, and two anxious protectors watched phase two of this deeply personal mission slip into play.

To an outsider, its significance would have passed them by. All Trip had done was take a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Not in fear, or resistance against where they were taking him. No. Just as T'Pol had shown him, through most of the previous day, and the whole of that morning, his eyes were closed in preparation. Helping him to focus. Concentrate. Build a protective wall around his mind, to shield it against the traumas to come.

Silently willing him through this whole process, Jon saw them finally open - a brighter, more brilliant blue than he'd ever seen within them. In both pride and concern, he met those eyes, and nodded.

He was ready. It was time.

Trena'l's reaction was just as both Jon and Malcolm had expected. As if greeting a lifelong friend, his face split into a delighted, thoroughly sickening smile.

"Commander! You've finally come to see me!"

That moment of gloating triumph didn't last for long. In fact, it lasted just seconds. Locked in the sights of three sets of eyes - piercing green, unyielding grey, and darkening blue - the smile began to slip. Gradually, reluctantly, it disappeared completely. Now _he_ was the one left defenceless against this silent, damning onslaught. Within those eyes, he saw three, deadly serious promises.

_'You're finished.'_

_'You're history.'_

And, within the pair of now glacial blue, the third that sealed his fate.

_'You're mine.'_

"Well, I heard my _opinion_ doesn't mean much to you. So I thought I'd just drop by, an' put you straight on that," Trip said at last, in that deathly soft tone that could even make Jon run for the nearest cover. Glancing deliberately slowly around Trenal's cell, Trip then caught him once more. Trapped him in the lethal sights of his eyes. The full force of his fury.

"See, the way _I_ see it, you're a captive audience. You ain't goin' nowhere. So tough tamales, 'cause you're gonna hear it anyway. _Then_ you're gonna hear my judgement."

If he'd been human, Trena'l would have been terrified by now. Beneath its dermal plating, Trip liked to think the face in front of him had turned a satisfying shade of white. Or green. Or whatever colour a Xyrillian went when it was having the **** scared out of it.

The thought made him smile now. Just like his eyes, though, it was stripped of its usual, cheering warmth. Cold, ruthless, and completely without mercy, it now joined the deliberate exaggeration of that deadly Southern drawl.

"Yeah, that's right. As one of the few survivors of your _reee-search,_ an' with the blessin' of your Government, _I_ get to decide on what to do with your miserable, good for nothin' hide. An' I can't begin to tell you how much of a pleasure that's gonna be."

Behind him, Jon and Malcolm traded glances. A private exchange of pure satisfaction. The deepest definition of pride, that passed through their respective, silent encouragement.

_'Attaboy, Trip. You've got him down. Now knock the bastard out.'_

_'In every sense of the word, Commander, give him hell.'_

Those thoughts had somehow transferred themselves into Trip's mind, because his smile then widened. If Trena'l had taken this as a sign of mercy, though - well, that thought withered and died inside the fire of those blazing blue eyes.

"See, _you're_ the one in this cell, an' _I'm_ the one who'll be free to walk away from it. Free to live an' enjoy the rest of my life. 'cause don't think for one second that what you did to me is gonna change that. I'm stronger than that. Stronger than you could _ever_ be. I'm the one who'll be free to walk away from this, while _you... _well, like I said, what happens to _you_ lies fair an' square with me."

As enthralled as they all were by this masterclass in courage, Jon almost felt he had to pinch himself to believe what he was seeing. His kind, gentle, generous friend - transformed into their polar opposites. He had never seen Trip Tucker so angry, yet so perfectly in control of its power, and - damn, he just wished T'Pol were here too, to see it.

In complete control over his emotions, her unlikeliest student was taking this little bastard apart. And, Jon thought with even greater satisfaction, the best bit was still to come.

Right on cue, come it did. Both barrels of deadliest Southern fury.

"You're already facin' the death penalty, for what you've done. To me, an' everyone else you used as your personal lab rats. But that'd be too easy. Too much of a mercy. I mean, you'd be dead. Killin' you would mean you'd never have to pay the _real_ penalty for what you did to us."

From Trena'l's reaction, this was clearly what he'd been hoping for. To turn this ultimate punishment to his advantage, so that he'd avoid the greater suffering of spending the rest of his life in prison.

Well, to hell with that. A voice that dripped with as much sarcasm as it did contempt destroyed those self-serving hopes as effectively as one of Malcolm's torpedoes.

"If you're anglin' for that easy option, hopin' for that kinda mercy, then forget it. 'cause thanks to Governor Sha'len an' the good Major here, _that's_ off the table."

A pause, then. A few seconds to regain his composure. And just as he'd done with Jon and Malcolm, Trena'l made one last attempt to turn that hesitation to his advantage. In rising desperation, he tried again, and again, to press his influence into this maddening human's mind. But all he found was the resistance that he'd once so brutally subdued. Courage, strength and spirit combined, into an impenetrable wall.

And those eyes. Blue fire, locked with his own. Fighting him. Defying him. Glaring him down, until his were the eyes that were finally forced to drop away.

For Jon, for Malcolm, and for Trip the most of all, it was a priceless moment. One that Trip was determined not to let slip away from him.

Everything he'd been through at this sick bastard's hands, from being drugged and brainwashed to having his DNA used to create a child he'd bitterly mourn for the rest of his life - it all came down to this moment. This final act of retribution that would make looking himself in the mirror each morning just that little bit easier.

"Yeah, I think you'll find your leaders aren't the _cowards_ you claim them to be," he said at last, letting the snake in front of him wriggle just a bit longer, before skewering him right through the hook. "The good Major here tells me Hellia is just _lovely_ at this time of year. Too hot for me, of course, but a _perfect __hell_ for you."

Another pause, just long enough for him to bring his face as close as he dared to the forcefield in front of it, and whisper one last, heartfelt sneer.

"An' I hope you burn in it."

And, with that, it was over. Turning on his heel, Trip strode away, so abruptly quickly that both Jon and Malcolm had to lengthen their stride to keep pace with him. With Tol'ren following behind, they were well on their way along the corridor before Trip responded to the arm that was gently trying to slow him down.

Only then did the walls that had defended him so bravely start to break. The rush of adrenalin crash out of his body, through tremors of helpless emotion. Then he was enfolded once more, inside arms that wrapped themselves around him, and refused to let him go. Gave him the comfort he needed to feel, while a voice as full of pride as it was concern whispered the words he needed to hear.

"Easy, Trip, it's okay, I've got you. I've got you, Trip. And it's over, Trip. It's all over."


	23. Chapter 22 Getting From There To Here

A/N: Well, here we are, at the end of another story. It's certainly been quite the journey, and thanks again to everyone who has shared it with me. I hope you've enjoyed reading it, as much as I enjoyed writing it.

After all the angst of my last three stories, I think my next one's going to be quite a bit lighter. My bunnies are already nibbling on a few ideas, and I'll be posting the results up here, as soon as they've finished.

For now, though, I thought I'd end Violations with another, rather long chapter - giving Trip time to reflect on what he's been through, before he starts to find his way to move on from it. And I hope you'll agree that its title is suitably apt.

Thanks again, and see you soon!

* * *

Violations

Chapter Twenty Two – Getting From There To Here

"Well, Trippy-boy, you've had one _hell_ of a week."

Through the same wry smile, Trip's mirrored image offered him an equally deadpan response.

_'No kiddin'. An' why are you callin' yourself that? You hate that damn name!'_

Throwing himself a rueful glare in return, Trip then cast more serious eyes over his reflection. He saw the same, boyishly handsome face. The same bright blue eyes. The same neatly trimmed, tawny blond hair.

Outwardly at least, he was the same Trip Tucker who'd joined Starfleet. Who'd worked his way up through its ranks, to the coveted post of chief engineer. The same Trip Tucker who'd answered his best friend's call that night, and yelled so loud himself that they could have heard him back in Panama City.

_'Trip, I've got it. I'm going to captain Enterprise. And remember that promise I made you? That I'd get you out there one day? Well, now I'll get to keep it.'_

Inwardly, though? For what he'd just been through, did he feel the same _inside_? Well, he thought through a reflective sigh, that was still very much a work in progress. As both Jon and Phlox, and even T'Pol, had gently told him, he wasn't going to bounce back from this overnight. It would take time for all the scars on his psyche to fully heal. In respective turns, they'd told him it would be too much, unwise, and illogical, to try and convince himself otherwise.

The message from all three of them had been unmistakeable. Coming to terms with this experience was going to take time. With equal parts of loyalty, trust, and gratitude, Trip had already agreed that he'd take their advice, and take his continuing recovery one day at a time.

He wasn't so naïve as to think it was going to be easy. Yes, he'd come a hell of a long way since Jon had helped him, so very gently, to remember what had really been done to him. But there was still a hell of a long way to go.

His ongoing sessions with T'Pol were certainly helping. But not even the calm quiet of meditating could fully beat back the demons that still continued to plague him. Every day swept him into a different tide of emotions. Lifting him high one moment, and bringing him crashing back down the next. And it was that, more than anything, that he found so damn frustrating. Such a drain on the cheerful optimism that he'd always felt before. That he wondered, sometimes, if he would ever fully feel again.

Three days ago, he'd been a traumatized victim, struggling to come to terms that he'd been physically and mentally raped.

Two days ago, he'd come face to face with the Xyrillian scientist who'd violated his body and mind, and condemned him to hellish imprisonment for the rest of his life.

When he'd returned from the Kellen, and all through yesterday, he'd stayed in his quarters. With Jon, as ever, at his side, he'd wrestled with his conscience. Fought to balance the satisfaction he'd felt for that moment against the natural compassion, the trust and faith in humanity, that formed so much of his character. Broken down, in helpless tears, for the hybrid child he'd been used to create.

Yes, Ah'len had lied about that too. After they'd removed her from his body, there'd been no other 'host' to transfer that innocent baby into. Instead, she'd been dumped in a tank with all the other 'products' of Trena'l's horrific research. And, like all the others, she'd died before she'd even been given the chance to live.

As naturally horrified as he'd been, Phlox had gently tried to explain why. Too many genetic differences, between Xyrillian and human DNA. In layman's terms, she'd been doomed as soon as she'd been created. And yes, he'd known that DNA had been taken from him without any kind of consent, by means that his senses had been thankfully spared.

_'Most likely while you were unconscious, Commander... while you'd be incapable of any resistance.'_

Yet however it had happened, whatever heritage had created her, he'd still fathered a child. A daughter, that he'd never come to know, or love, or see to grow up. Like every newly bereaved parent, the grief for her loss was still too raw for him to even start to process it.

Today would be better, he promised himself, staring once more at his reflection, as if trying to convince himself with his own words. A turning point in the recovery that had been, still was, so very painful.

"Today, I'm gonna stop being a victim, an' start bein' a survivor."

Again, he'd spoken aloud to his own image. Again, that image sent its more encouraging reply through his healing mind.

_'Damn straight you are.'_

There was another smile too, this time. An easier smile, that spread wider across his face as he gave himself a final checkover. Gently polished the three pips on his uniform. Picked some non-existent lint from his sleeve. Squared his shoulders, and looked the chief engineer of the starship Enterprise straight in the eye.

"Okay, Tucker, enough of all this mopin' an' maudlin'. Time to get out there, an' start doin' the job you came out here to do."

Before he could talk himself out of it, Trip took a deep breath, then another. Then, for only the second time since he'd told a stunned, horrified crew what had really been done to him, he left his quarters.

He knew where his feet would eventually take him, of course, but - no, not yet. Little hurdles first, before he tried to tackle the big ones. As childhood curiosity, and his long suffering mother, had gently taught him, a three foot kid could _never_ hope to clear a ten foot wall.

Not that he hadn't tried, of course. Hell, he still had that damn scar on his cheek to prove it.

Still smiling at the memory, Trip headed instead for the first of those 'personal hurdles.' Through coincidence, or maybe even subconscious choice, he knew where it would be.

He knew that Jon would have already eaten, and would now be settled into the duty he'd been destined to fulfil. Whether he'd taken his breakfast in his quarters, or his own private mess - well, it didn't really make any difference. Trip knew the main mess hall, where he'd endured so much of that whispering gossip over his 'condition', would have quietened down now, after its traditional, morning rush.

By the time he'd reached it, the two startled ensigns he'd encountered en route had already excitedly spread the word.

_'We've just seen Commander Tucker! Yeah, he looks fine, he told us he was going to get some breakfast.'_

The result? Well, not exactly the quiet, inconspicuous entrance that he'd hoped for. As soon as he appeared through its doors, a wave of cheering applause almost knocked him straight back through them.

Everyone who then left their tables to greet him did so with both delight and relief. Welcoming hands clapped him on the back. And just to make this moment just about perfect, Chef left his beloved kitchen, and personally delivered a freshly made plateful of bacon, eggs and grits.

Until he finished the last delicious mouthful, Trip hadn't realized just how hungry he was. And, more to the point, how much he'd missed the company of this new, already close knit family.

It was, as Phlox would no doubt say, just what the doctor had ordered. A lovely feeling, that gave him all the incentive he needed to find more of the same.

To his slightly less awkward delight, the reaction in Engineering was even louder. It took ten clear minutes for his teams to bring their CO up to speed on what he'd missed. Everything from status reports, their latest letters from home, to the winners of that week's poker games. Enjoying it too much to even try to get a word in edgewise, Trip just sat at his control station, and savoured every moment.

When, finally, they all drifted back to their duties, he then quietly called Anna Hess back to re-join him. From her expression alone, she knew what was coming.

"Even if you _did_ fry 'em like my momma's catfish... thanks for takin' care of my engines."

He'd almost, _almost_, managed to keep his face straight. Even without that twitching smile, those mischievously bright eyes, Anna wasn't fooled for a second. No, she was as relieved, and grateful, and happy, to see him as all of them were.

"Good to have you back, sir."

"Thanks, Anna. It's good to _be_ back."

He'd meant it, too. Safe in the environment that he loved like home, Trip had never been more grateful as he was now, just to sit quietly at his station, and drink in the sights and sounds around him.

Two down, he proudly told himself. Two down, and one to go. After calling in again on the mess hall - _damn, he really was hungry_ - Trip headed for his third, and final, stop.

Glancing instinctively towards the turbolift's opening doors, Malcolm did an astonished, elated double take. Turning in response to see what he was looking at, Jon did the same, and broke into an equally broad smile. And at the helm, Travis had a grin on his face that could have powered the warp engines for the rest of the year.

T'Pol's reaction, in contrast, was typically calm. But the slightest tilt of her head still expressed everything that her Vulcan discipline couldn't let her say aloud.

No, that rush of emotion came from Hoshi. Bypassing all protocols, and even her own Captain's standing orders, she rose from her seat, strode across to him. Found the answer to her silent question shining in his eyes. And, after the slightest hesitation, wrapped her arms around his neck.

To everyone who saw it, whether through human eyes or Vulcan, Trip's reaction said it all. As soon as Hoshi started to hug him, his arms wrapped themselves around her in return. Welcoming the contact between them. Embracing it, in every sense of the term. Resting his head on top of hers, blond against black, they stood together - held in the same special bond that they'd forged on the Axanar ship.

If not for the proud amusement that both eventually sensed around them, they'd have stayed there even longer. As it was, Trip still kept his arm around her as he met his Captain's proudly approving eyes with a pricelessly sheepish grin.

"Permission to come onto the Bridge, Cap'n?"

As quiet laughter, and a wryly raised eyebrow told him, it was kinda too late to be asking that.

_'You're already on it!'_

Still laughing, Jon strode over to him. Placed both hands on his shoulders, and, so very proudly, welcomed him home.

"Absolutely, Commander. Absolutely."

More seriously, Jon knew the courage it had taken for Trip to come here. And, more to the point, he done it on his own. When he'd last stood on this Bridge, he'd been forced to reveal his 'condition' in front of everyone on it. Suffered its complete humiliation, not just from their reactions, but those of a Klingon crew as well.

Now, though, it was a thankfully different story. Through a silent exchange of concern and courage -

_'You okay?'_

_'Gettin' there.'_

- Jon had no doubts that, in time... yes, he _would_ get there. From the look of wonder that now spread over Trip's face, that journey had just taken a massive leap forward.

"_Wow_! Would you just look at that?!"

Turning to glance back at the 'that' in question, Jon grinned too. Savoured the pure joy in Trip's eyes, while he remembered when he'd first seen it.

_'Damn, Jon, just - just look at her! She's - She's beautiful!'_

From his first sight of Enterprise, to the breathtaking nebulae, and planetary system, that lay that now lay ahead of her - yes, _this _was the Trip Tucker he'd always known. The insatiably curious child, held inside an equally curious explorer's body. And Jon knew what his friend was going to ask, before the idea for it even planted itself inside Trip's mind.

"Yeah, it's quite something, all right. And that planet to the left there looks to be class M. So, Commander - you up for a little exploring?"

Taking that priceless _'now-who's-askin'-a-dumb-question?_' glare as an affirmative, Jon then nodded towards Travis, giving him the order he had to make, before his chief engineer did it for him.

"Take us in, Travis. Slow and steady."


End file.
